Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

Microsoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/ellacriticalmiscOOcarlrich 


CRITICAL    AND    MISCELLANEOUS 


ESSAYS 


COLLECTED   AND    REPUBLISHED 


BY 

THOMAS    CARLYLE 


JEAN  PAUL   FRIEDEICH  RICH  TER.— STATE  OF 

GERMAN  LITERA  TURE  —LIFE  AND 

WRITINGS  OF  WERNER 


NEW   YORK: 
JOHN     B.     ALDEN,     PUBLISHER, 

1885. 


JEAN  PAUL  FRIEDRICH  RICHTER. 


JEAN  PAUL  PRIEDRICH  RICHTER. 

A  well-written  life  almost  as  rare  as  a  well-spent  one.  Doring's  Gal- 
lery of  Weimar  Authors :  His  helpless  biographical  method :  No  pique 
against  him,  poor  man.  His  No-life  of  Richter.  (p.  5).— Jean  Paul  little 
known  out  of  Germany.  The  leading  events  of  his  life  :  Personal  character- 
istics. His  multifarious  Works.  (9). — Must  be  studied  as  well  as  read.  Ec- 
centricities :  Every  work  embaled  in  some  fantastic  wrappage.  Not  affecta- 
tion :  Consistent  enough  from  his  own  point  of  vision.  (14). — Intellect, 
imagination,  and  humour :  Sport  the  element  in  which  his  nature  lived  and 
worked.  He  loved  all  living  with  the  heart  of  a  brother.  True  Humour  a 
kind  of  inverse  sublimity,  exalting  into  our  affections  what  is  lowly  :  In  this 
quality  Richter  excels  all  German  authors.  (17). — All  genuine  things  are  what 
they  ought  to  be :  A  harmonious  development  of  being,  the  object  of  all  true 
culture.  Richter's  worst  faults  nearly  allied  to  his  best  merits.  (22). — Imper- 
fection of  his  Novels  :  A  true  work  of  art  requires  to  be  fused  in  the  mind 
of  its  creator.  Chiefly  successful  in  his  humorous  characters,  and  with  his 
heroines  :  His  Dreams.  His  Philosophy  not  mechanical.  Richter,  in  the 
highest  sense  of  the  word,  religious  :  The  martyr  Fearlessness  combined  with 
the  martyr  Reverence.  Extract  from  Quinlus  Fixlein  :  A  Summer  Night. 
Richter's  value  as  a  writer.  (23). 


JEAN  PAUL  FRIEDRICH  R1CHTER.' 

[1827.] 

Dr.  Johnson,  it  is  said,  when  he  first  heard  of  Boswell's  in- 
tention to  write  a  life  of  him,  announced,  with  decision  enough, 
that,  if  he  thought  Boswell  really  meant  to  write  his  life,  he 
would  prevent  it  by  taking  BosweWs  !  That  great  authors 
should  actually  employ  this  preventive  against  bad  biogra- 
phers is  a  thing  we  would  by  no  means  recommend  :  but  the 
truth  is,  that,  rich  as  we  are  in  Biography,  a  well-written  Life 
is  almost  as  rare  as  a  well-spent  one  ;  and  there  are  certainly 
many  more  men  whose  history  deserves  to  be  recorded, 
than  persons  willing  and  able  to  record  it.  But  great  men, 
like  the  old  Egyptian  kings,  must  all  be  tried  after  death,  be- 
fore they  can  be  embalmed  :  and  what,  in  truth,  are  these 
1  Sketches,'  'Anas,'  '  Conversations,'  £  Voices,' and  the  like,  but 
the  votes  and  pleadings  of  so  many  ill-informed  advocates, 
jurors,  and  judges  ;  from  whose  conflict,  however,  we  shall  in 
the  end  have  a  true  verdict  ?  The  worst  of  it  is  at  the  first ; 
for  weak  eyes  are  precisely  the  fondest  of  glittering  objects. 
Accordingly,  no  sooner  does  a  great  man  depart,  and  leave 
his  character  as  public  property,  than  a  crowd  of  little  men 
rushes  towards  it.  There  they  are  gathered  together,  blink- 
ing up  to  it  with  such  vision  as  they  have,  scanning  it  front 
afar,  hovering  round  it  this  way  and  that,  each  cunningly  en- 
deavouring, by  all  arts,  to  catch  some  reflex  of  it  in  the  little 
mirror  of  Himself ;  though,  many  times,  this  mirror  is  so 
twisted  with  convexities  and  concavities,  and,  indeed,  so  ex- 

1  Edinburgh  Review,  No.  91. — Jean  Paul  Frkdrich  RicM&r's  Leben, 
nebst  Characteristik  seiner  Werke ;  von  Heinrich  Daring.  (Jean  Paul 
Friedrich  Richter's  Life,  with  a  Sketch  of  his  Works  ;  by  Heinrich  Dor- 
ing  )     Gotha ;  Hennings,  1826.     12mo,  pp.  208. 


6  JEAN  PAUL  FRIED  RICH  Rl  CUTER. 

tremely  small  in  size,  that  to  expect  any  true  image,  or  any 
image  whatever  from  it,  is  out  of  the  question. 

Richter  was  much  better-natured  than  Johnson  ;  and  took 
many  provoking  things  with  the  spirit  of  a  humorist  and  phi- 
losopher ;  nor  can  we  think  that  so  good  a  man,  had  he  even 
foreseen*  this  Work  of  Doring's,  would  have  gone  the  length 
of  assassinating  him  for  it.  Doring  is  a  person  we  have  known 
for  several  years,  as  a  compiler,  and  translator,  and  ballad- 
monger  ;  whose  grand  enterprise,  however,  is  his  Gallery  of 
Weimar  Authors;  a  series  of  strange  little  Biographies,  be- 
ginning with  Schiller,  and  already  extending  over  Wieland 
and  Herder  ; — now  comprehending,  probably  by  conquest, 
Klopstock  also  ;  and  lastly,  by  a  sort  of  droit  d'aubaine,  Jean 
Paul  Friedrich  Richter  ;  neither  of  whom  belonged  to  Weimar. 
Authors,  it  must  be  admitted,  are  happier  than  the  old  painter 
with  his  cocks  :  for  they  write,  naturally  and  without  fear  of 
ridicule,  the  name  of  their  work  on  the  title-page  ;  and  thence- 
forth the  purport  and  tendency  of  each  volume  remains  indis- 
putable. Doring  is  sometimes  lucky  in  this  privilege  ;  other- 
wise his  manner  oi  composition,  being  so  peculiar,  might 
occasion  difficulty  now  and  then.  Biographies,  according  to 
Doring's  method,  are  a  simple  business.  You  first  ascertain, 
from  the  Leipsic  Conversationsleocicon,  or  Jordens's  Poetical 
Lexicon,  or  Flogel,  or  Koch,  or  other  such  Comjjendiam  or 
Handbook,  the  date  and  place  of  the  proposed  individual's 
birth,  his  parentage,  trade,  appointments,  and  the  titles  of 
his  works  ;  the  date  of  his  death  you  already  know  from  the 
newspapers  :  this  serves  as  a  foundation  for  the  edifice.  You 
then  go  through  his  writings,  and  all  other  writings  where  he 
or  his  pursuits  are  treated  of,  and  wherever  you  find  a  passage 
with  his  name  in  it,  you  cut  it  out,  and  carry  it  away.  In  this 
manner  a  mass  of  materials  is  collected,  and  the  building  now 
proceeds  apace.  Stone  is  laid  on  the  top  of  stone,  just  as  it 
comes  to  hand  ;  a  trowel  or  two  of  biographic  mortar,  if  per- 
fectly convenient,  being  spread  in  here  and  there,  by  way  of 
cement ;  and  so  the  strangest  pile  suddenly  arises  ;  amor- 
phous, pointing  every  way  but  to  the  zenith,  here  a  block  of 
granite,    there  a  mass  of  pipe-clay;  till   the   whole   finishes, 


JEAN  PAUL  FRIED  RICH  RIGHT ER.  7 

when  the  materials  are  finished  ; — and  you  leave  it  standing 
to  posterity,  like  some  miniature  Stonehenge,  a  perfect  archi- 
tectural enigma. 

To  speak  without  figure,  this  mode  of  life  writing  has  its 
disadvantages.  For  one  thing,  the  composition  cannot  well 
be  what  the  critics  call  harmonious  :  and,  indeed,  Herr  Dor-. 
ing's  transitions  are  often  abrupt  enough.  The  hero  changea 
his  object  and  occupation  from  page  to  page,  often  from  sen- 
tence to  sentence,  in  the  most  unaccountable  way  ;  a  pleasure- 
journey,  and  a  sickness  of  fifteen  years,  are  despatched  with 
equal  brevity  ;  in  a  moment  you  find  him  married,  and  the 
father  of  three  fine  children.  He  dies  no  less  suddenly  ; — he 
is  studying  as  usual,  writing  poetry,  receiving  visits,  full  ol 
life  and  business,  when  instantly  some  paragrajoh  opens  under 
him,  like  one  of  the  trap-doors  in  the  Vision  of  Mirza,  and  he 
drops,  without  note  of  preparation,  into  the  shades  below. 
Perhaps,  indeed,  not  forever  ;  we  have  instances  of  his  rising- 
after  the  funeral,  and  winding  up  his  affairs.  The  time  has 
been  that,  when  the  brains  were  out,  the  man  would  die  ;  but 
During  orders  these  things  differently. 

After  all,  however,  we  have  no  pique  againt  poor  During : 
on  the  contrary,  we  regularly  purchase  his  ware  ;  and  it  gives 
us  true  pleasure  to  see  his  spirits  so  much  improved  since  we 
first  met  him.  In  the  Life  of  Schiller  his  state  did  seem 
rather  unprosperous  :  he  wore  a  timorous,  submissive,  and 
downcast  aspect,  as  if,  like  Sterne's  Ass,  he  were  saying, 
'  Don't  thrash  me  ; — but  if  you  will,  you  may  ! '  Now,  however, 
comforted  by  considerable  sale,  and  praise  from  this  and  the 
other  Litter 'aturblatt,  which  has  commended  his  diligence,  his 
fidelity,  and,  strange  to  say,  his  method,  he  advances  with 
erect  countenance  and  firm  hoof,  and  even  recalcitrates  con- 
temptuously against  such  as  do  him  offence.  Gl'ack  auf  dem 
Weg !  is  the  worst  we  wish  him. 

Of  his  Life  of  Richter,  these  preliminary  observations  may 
be  our  excuse  for  saying  but  little.  He  brags  much,  in  his 
Preface,  that  it  is  all  true  and  genuine  ;  for  Eichter  s  widow, 
it  seems,  had,  by  public  advertisement,  cautioned  the  world 
against  it ;  another  biography,  partly  by  the  illustrious  de- 


8  JEAN  PAUL  FBIEDRICn  BICHTER 

ceased  himself,  partly  by  Otto,  his  oldest  friend  and  the  ap- 
pointed Editor  of  his  Works,  being  actually  in  preparation. 
This  rouses  the  indignant  spirit  of  During,  and  he  stoutly  as- 
severates, that,  his  documents  being  altogether  authentic, 
this  biography  is  no  pseudo-biography.  With  still  greater 
truth  he  might  have  asseverated  that  it  was  no  biography  at 
all.  Well  are  he  and  Hennings  of  Gotha  aware  that  this  thing 
of  shreds  and  patches  has  been  vamped  together  for  sale  only. 
Except  a  few  letters  to  Kunz,  the  Bamberg  Bookseller,  which 
turn  mainly  on  the  purchase  of  spectacles,  and  the  journey- 
ings  and  freightage  of  two  boxes  that  used  to  pass  and  repass 
between  Bichter  and  Kunz's  circulating  library  ;  with  three 
or  four  notes  of  similar  importance,  and  chiefly  to  other  book- 
sellers, there  are  no  biographical  documents  here,  which  were 
not  open  to  all  Euroj>e  as  well  as  to  Heinrich  Doring.  In- 
deed, very  nearly  one-half  of  the  Life  is  occupied  with  a  de- 
scription of  the  funeral  and  its  appendages, — how  the  '  sixty 
torches,  with  a  number  of  lanterns  and  pitchpans,'  were  ar- 
ranged ;  how  this  Patrician  or  Professor  followed  that, 
through  Friedrich-street,  Chancery-street,  and  other  streets 
of  Bayreuth  ;  and  how  at  last  the  torches  all  went  out,  as  Dr. 
Gabler  and  Dr.  Spatzier  were  perorating  (decidedly  in  bom- 
bast) over  the  grave.  Then,  it  seems,  there  were  meetings 
held  in  various  parts  of  Germany,  to  solemnise  the  memory 
of  Bichter  ;  among  the  rest,  one  in  the  Museum  of  Frankfort- 
on-the-Maine  ;  where  a  Dr.  Borne  speaks  another  long  speech, 
if  possible  in  still  more  decided  bombast.  Next  come  threno- 
dies from  all  the  four  winds,  mostly  on  very  splay-footed  metre. 
The  whole  of  which  is  here  snatched  from  the  kind  oblivion 
of  the  newspapers,  and  'lives  in  Settle's  numbers  one  day 
more.' 

We  have  too  much  reverence  for  the  name  of  Bichter  to 
think  of  laughing  over  these  unhappy  threnodists  and  pane- 
gyrists ;  some  of  whom  far  exceed  anything  we  English  can 
exhibit  in  the  epicedial  style.  They  rather  testify,  however 
maladroitly,  that  the  Germans  have  felt  their  loss, — which, 
indeed,  is  one  to  Europe  at  large  ;  they  even  affect  us  with  a 
certain  melancholy  feeling,  when  we  consider  how  a  heavenly 


JEAN  PAUL  FRIED  RICH  RICHTER.  0 

voice  must  become  mute,  and  nothing  be  beard  in  its  stead 
but  the  whoop  of  quite  earthly  voices,  lamenting,  or  pretend- 
ing to  lament.  Far  from  us  be  all  remembrance  of  During 
and  Company,  while  we  speak  of  Richter !  But  his  own 
Works  give  us  some  glimpses  into  his  singular  and  noble 
nature  ;  and  to  our  readers  a  few  words  on  this  man,  cer- 
tainly one  of  the  most  remarkable  of  his  age,  will  not  seem 
thrown  away. 

Except  by  name,  Jean  Paul  Friedrich  Richter  is  little 
known  out  of  Germany,  The  only  thing  connected  with 
him,  we  think,  that  has  reached  this  country,  is  his  saying, 
imported  by  Madame  de  Stael,  and  thankfully  pocketed  by, 
most  newspaper  critics  : . —  '  Providence  has  given  to  the 
'  French  the  empire  of  the  land,  to  the  English  that  of  the 
'  sea,  to  the  Germans  that  of — the  air ! '  Of  this  last  element, 
indeed,  his  own  genius  might  easily  seem  to  have  been  a 
denizen ;  so  fantastic,  many-coloured,  far-grasping,  everyway 
perplexed  and  extraordinary  is  his  mode  of  writing.  To 
translate  him  properly  is  next  to  impossible ;  nay,  a  diction- 
ary of  his  works  has  actually  been  in  part  published  for  the 
use  of  German  readers !  These  things  have  restricted  his 
sphere  of  action,  and  may  long  restrict  it,  to  his  own  country  : 
but  there,  in  return,  he  is  a  favourite  of  the  first  class  ; 
studied  through  all  his  intricacies  with  trustful  admiration, 
and  a  love  which  tolerates  much.  During  the  last  forty  years, 
he  has  been  continually  before  the  public,  in  various  capac- 
ities, and  growing  generally  in  esteem  with  all  ranks  of  critics  ; 
till,  at  length,  his  gainsayers  have  either  been  silenced  or  con- 
vinced ;  and  Jean  Paul,  at  first  reckoned  half-mad,  has  long 
ago  vindicated  his  singularities  to  nearly  universal  satisfac- 
tion, and  now  combines  popularity  with  real  depth  of  endow- 
ment, in  perhaps  a  greater  degree  than  any  other  writer  ; 
being  second  in  the  latter  point  to  scarcely  more  than  one  of 
his  contemporaries,  and  in  the  former  second  to  none. 

The  biography  of  so  distinguished  a  person  could  scarcely 
fail  to  be  interesting,  especially  his  autobiography  ;  which, 
accordingly,  we   wait   for,  and  may  in  time  submit  to   our 


10  JEAN  PAUL  FRIED  RICH  RI  CUTER. 

readers,  if  it  seem  worthy  :  meanwhile,  the  history  of  his  life, 
so  far  as  outward  events  characterise  it,  may  be  stated  in  a 
few  words.  He  was  born  at  Wunsiedel  in  Bayreuth,  in 
March,  1763.  His  father  was  a  subaltern  teacher  in  the  Gym- 
nasium of  the  place,  and  was  afterwards  promoted  to  be 
clergyman  at  Schwarzbach  on  the  Saale.  Richter's  early  edu- 
cation was  of  the  scantiest  sort ;  but  his  fine  faculties  and  un- 
wearied diligence  supplied  every  defect.  Unable  to  purchase 
books,  he  borrowed  what  he  could  come  at,  and  transcribed 
from  them,  often  great  part  of  their  contents,— a  habit  of  ex- 
cerpting which  continued  with  him  through  life,  and  influ- 
enced, in  more  than  one  way,  his  mode  of  writing  and  study. 
To  the  last,  he  was  an  insatiable  and  universal  reader  :  so  that 
his  extracts  accumulated  on  his  hands,  'till  they  filled  whole 
chests.'  In  1780,  he  went  to  the  University  of  Leipsic  ;  with 
the  highest  character,  in  spite  of  the  impediments  which  he 
had  struggled  with,  for  talent  and  acquirement.  Like  his 
father,  he  was  destined  for  Theology  ;  from  which,  however, 
his  vagrant  genius  soon  diverged  into  Poetry  and  Philosophy, 
to  the  neglect,  and,  ere  long,  to  the  final  abandonment  of  his 
appointed  profession.  Not  well  knowing  what  to  do,  he  now 
accepted  a  tutorship  in  some  family  of  rank  ;  then  he  had 
pupils  in  his  own  house, — which,  however,  like  his  way  of 
life,  he  often  changed  ;  for  by  this  time  he  had  become  an 
author,  and,  in  his  wanderings  over  Germany,  was  putting 
forth,  now  here,  now  there,  the  strangest  books,  with  the 
strangest  titles.  For  instance, —  Greenland  Lawsuits; — Bio- 
graphical  Recreations  under  the  Cranium  of  a  Giantess  ; — Selec- 
tion from  the  Papers  of  the  Devil ; — and  the  like !  In  these 
indescribable  performances,  the  splendid  faculties  of  the 
writer,  luxuriating  as  they  seem  in  utter  riot,  could  not  be 
disputed ;  nor,  with  all  its  extravagance,  the  fundamental 
strength,  honesty  and  tenderness  of  his  nature.  Genius  will 
reconcile  men  to  much.  By  degrees,  Jean  Paul  began  to  be 
considered  not  a  strange  crack-brained  mixture  of  enthusiast 
and  buffoon,  but  a  man  of  infinite  humour,  sensibility,  force 
and  penetration.  His  writings  procured  him  friends  and 
fame  ;  and  at  length  a  wife  and  a  settled  provision.     With 


JEAN  PAUL  FRIED  RICH  RIG  LITER.  11 

Caroline  Mayer,  his  good  spouse,  and  a  pension  (in  1802) 
from  the  King  of  Bavaria,  he  settled  in  Ba}rreuth,  the  capital 
of  his  native  province  ;  where  he  lived  thenceforth,  diligent 
and  celebrated  in  many  new  departments  of  Literature  ;  and 
died  on  the  14th  of  November,  1825,  loved  as  well  as  admired 
by  all  his  countrymen,  and  most  by  those  who  had  known 
him  most  intimately. 

A  huge,  irregular  man,  both  in  mind  and  person  (for  his 
Portrait  is  quite  a  physiognomical  study),  full  of  fire,  strength 
and  impetuosity,  Richter  seems,  at  the  same  time,  to  have 
been,  in  the  highest  degree,  mild,  simple-hearted,  humane. 
He  was  fond  of  conversation,  and  might  well  shine  in  it :  he 
talked,  as  he  wrote,  in  a  style  of  his  own,  full  of  wild  strength 
and  charms,  to  which  his  natural  Bayreuth  accent  often  gave 
additional  effect.  Yet  he  loved  retirement,  the  country  and 
all  natural  things  ;  from  his  youth  upwards,  he  himself  tells 
us,  he  may  almost  be  said  to  have  lived  in  the  open  air  ;  it 
was  among  groves  and  meadows  that  he  studied, — often  that 
he  wrote.  Even  in  the  streets  of  Bayreuth,  we  have  heard, 
he  was  seldom  seen  without  a  flower  in  his  breast.  A  man  of 
quiet  tastes,  and  warm  compassionate  affections  !  His  friends 
he  must  have  loved  as  few  do.  Of  his  poor  and  humble 
mother  he  often  speaks  by  allusion,  and  never  without  rever- 
ence and  overflowing  tenderness.  '  Unhappy  is  the  man,'  says 
he,  '  for  whom  his  own  mother  has  not  made  all  other  mothers 
'  venerable  ! '  And  elsewhere  :  '  O  thou  who  hast  still  a  father 
'  and  a  mother,  thank  God  for  it  in  the  day  when  thy  soul  is 
'  full  of  joyful  tears,  and  needs  a  bosom  wherein  to  shed 
'  them  ! ' — We  quote  the  following  sentences  from  During, 
almost  the  only  memorable  thing  he  has  written  in  this  Vol- 
ume : 

'  Richter's  studying  or  sitting  apartment  offered,  about  this 
'  time  (1793),  a  true  and  beautiful  emblem  of  his  simple  and 
'  noble  way  of  thought,  which  comprehended  at  once  the  high 
*  and  the  low.  Whilst  his  mother,  who  then  lived  with  him, 
'  busily  pursued  her  household  work,  occupying  herself  about 
1  stove  and  dresser,  Jean  Paul  was  sitting'  in  a  corner  of  the 
1  same  room,  at  a   simple  writing-desk,  with  few  or  no  books 


12  JEAN  PAUL  FRIEDRICH  RICHTER. 

'  about  him,  but  merely  with  one  or  two  drawers  containing 
1  excerpts  and  manuscripts.  The  jingle  of  the  household 
'  operations  seemed  not  at  all  to  disturb  him,  any  more  than 
'  did  the  cooing  of  the  pigeons,  which  fluttered  to  and  fro  in 
c  the  chamber, — a  place,  indeed,  of  considerable  size.'1 

Our  venerable  Hooker,  we  remember,  also  enjoyed  '  the 
jingle  of  household  operations,'  and  the  more  questionable 
jingle  of  shrewd  tongues  to  boot,  while  he  wrote  ;  but  the 
good  thrifty  mother,  and  the  cooing  pigeons,  were  wanting. 
Richter  came  afterwards  to  live  in  finer  mansions,  and  had 
the  great  and  learned  for  associates  ;  but  the  gentle  feelings 
of  those  days  abode  with  him  :  through  life  he  was  the  same 
substantial,  determinate,  yet  meek  and  tolerating  man.  It  is 
seldom  that  so  much  rugged  energy  can  be  so  blandly  at- 
tempered ;  that  so  much  vehemence  and  so  much  softness 
will  go  together. 

The  expected  Edition  of  Richter's  Works  is  to  be  in  sixty 
volumes  ;  and  they  are  no  less  multifarious  than  extensive  ; 
embracing  subjects  of  all  sorts,  from  the  highest  problems  of 
Transcendental  Philosophy,  and  the  most  passionate  poetical 
delineations,  to  Golden  Rules  for  the  Weather-Projrtiet,  and 
instructions  in  the  Art  of  Falling  Asleep.  His  chief  pro- 
ductions are  Novels :  the  Unsichtbare  Loge  (Invisible  Lodge)  ; 
Flegeljahre  (Wild-Oats)  ;  Life  of  Fixlein  ;  the  Jubelsenior 
(Parson  in  Jubilee)  ;  Schmelzle's  Journey  to  Flatz  ;  Katzen- 
berger's  Journey  to  the  Bath;  Life  of  Fibel ;  with  many 
lighter  pieces  ;  and  two  works  of  a  higher  order,  Hesperus 
and  Titan,  the  largest  and  the  best  of  his  Novels.  It  was  the 
former  that  first  (in  1795)  introduced  him  into  decisive  and 
universal  estimation  with  his  countrymen  :  the  latter  he  him- 
self, with  the  most  judicious  of  his  critics,  regarded  as  his 
master  piece.  But  the  name  Novelist,  as  we  in  England 
must  understand  it,  would  ill  describe  so  vast  and  discursive 
a  genius  :  for,  with  all  his  grotesque,  tumultuous  pleasantry, 
Richter  is  a  man  of  a  truly  earnest,  nay  high  and  solemn 
character  ;  and  seldom  writes  without  a  meaning  far  beyond 
the  sphere  of  common  romancers.     Hesperus  and  Titan  them- 

1  Page  8. 


JEAN  PAUL  FRIEDRICII  RICHTER.  13 

selves,  though  in  form  nothing  more  than  '  novels  of  real  life,' 
as  the  Minerva  Press  would  say,  have  solid  metal  enough  in 
them  to  furnish  whole  circulating  libraries,  were  it  beaten  into 
the  usual  filigree  ;  and  much  which,  attenuate  it  as  we  might, 
no  quarterly  subscriber  could  well  carry  with  him.  Amuse- 
ment is  often,  in  part  almost  always,  a  mean  with  Richter  ; 
rarely  or  never  his  highest  end.  His  thoughts,  his  feelings, 
the  creations  of  his  spirit,  walk  before  us  embodied  under 
wondrous  shapes,  in  motley  and  ever-fluctuating  groups  ;  but 
his  essential  character,  however  he  disguise  it,  is  that  of  a 
Philosopher  and  moral  Poet,  whose  study  has  been  human 
nature,  whose  delight  and  best  endeavour  are  with  all  that  is 
beautiful,  and  tender,  and  mysteriously  sublime,  in  the  fate 
or  history  of  man.  This  is  the  purport  of  his  writings, 
whether  their  form  be  that  of  fiction  or  of  truth,  the  spirit 
that  pervades  and  ennobles  his  delineations  of  common  life, 
his  wild  wayward  dreams,  allegories,  and  shadowy  imaginings, 
no  less  than  his  disquisitions  of  a  nature  directly  scientific. 

But  in  this  latter  province  also  Richter  has  accomplished 
much.  His  Vorschule  der  Aesthetik  (Introduction  to  Es- 
thetics l)  is  a  work  on  Poetic  Art,  based  on  principles  of  no 
ordinary  depth  and  compass,  abounding  in  noble  views,  and, 
notwithstanding  its  frolicsome  exuberance,  in  sound  and  sub- 
tle criticism  ;  esteemed  even  in  Germany,  where  criticism  has 
long  been  treated  of  as  a  science,  and  by  such  persons  as 
Winkelmann,  Kant,  Herder,  and  the  Schlegels.  Of  this  work 
we  could  speak  long,  did  our  limits  allow.  We  fear  it  might 
astonish  many  an  honest  brother  of  our  craft,  were  he  to  read 
it ;  and  altogether  perplex  and  dash  his  maturest  counsels,  if 
he  chanced  to  understand  it. — Richter  has  also  written  on 
Education,  a  work  entitled  Levana  ;  distinguished  by  keen 
practical  sagacity,  as  well  as  generous  sentiment,  and  a  certain 
sober  magnificence  of  speculation  ;  the  whole  presented  in 
that  singular  style  that  characterises  the  man.     Germany  is 

1  From  ala&dpouai,  to  feel.  A  -word  invented  by  Baumgarten  (some 
eighty  years  ago),  to  express  generally  the  Science  of  the  Fine  Arts  ;  and 
now  in  universal  use  among  the  Germans.  Perhaps  we  also  might  as 
well  adopt  it ;  at  least  if  any  such  science  should  ever  arise  among  us. 


14  JEAN  PAUL   FRIEDRICH  RICHTER 

rich  in  works  on  Education  ;  richer  at  present  than  any  other 
country  :  it  is  there  only  that  some  echo  of  the  Lockes  and 
Miltons,  speaking  of  this  high  matter,  may  still  be  heard  ; 
and  speaking  of  it  in  the  language  of  our  own  time,  with  in- 
sight into  the  actual  wants,  advantages,  perils  and  prospects 
of  this  age.  Among  the  writers  on  this  subject  Eichter  holds 
a  high  place  ;  if  we  look  chiefly  at  his  tendency  and  aims, 
perhaps  the  highest.  The  Clavis-Fichtiana  is  a  ludicrous  per- 
formance, known  to  us  only  by  report ;  but  Bichter  is  said  to 
possess  the  merit,  while  he  laughs  at  Fichte,  of  understand- 
ing him  ;  a  merit  among  Fichte's  critics  which  seems  to  be 
one  of  the  rarest.  Report  also,  we  regret  to  say,  is  all  that 
we  know  of  the  Gampaner  Thai,  a  Discourse  on  the  Immor- 
tality of  the  Soul ;  one  of  Bichter's  beloved  topics,  or  rather 
the  life  of  his  whole  philosophy,  glimpses  of  which  look  forth 
on  us  from  almost  every  one  of  his  writings.  He  died  while 
engaged,  under  recent  and  almost  total  blindness,  in  enlarg- 
ing and  remodelling  this  Gampaner  Thai ;  the  unfinished 
manuscript  was  borne  upon  his  coffin  to  the  burial  vault : 
and  Klopstock's  hymn,  '  Auferstehen  wirst  du,  Thou  shalt 
arise,  my  soul*'  can  seldom  have  been  sung  with  more  appro- 
priate application  than  over  the  grave  of  Jean  Paul. 

We  defy  the  most  careless  or  prejudiced  reader  to  peruse 
these  works  without  an  impression  of  something  splendid, 
wonderful  and  daring.  But  they  require  to  be  studied  as 
well  as  read,  and  this  with  no  ordinary  patience,  if  the 
reader,  especially  the  foreign  reader,  wishes  to  comprehend 
rightly  either  their  truth  or  their  want  of  truth.  Tried 
by  many  an  accepted  standard,  Bichter  would  be  speedily 
enough  disposed  of  ;  pronounced  a  mystic,  a  German  dreamer, 
a  rash  and  presumptuous  innovator ;  and  so  consigned,  with 
equanimity,  perhaps  with  a  certain  jubilee,  to  the  Limbo  ap- 
pointed for  all  such  windbags  and  deceptions.  Originality  is 
a  thing  we  constantly  clamour  for,  and  constantly  quarrel 
with  ;  as  if,  observes  our  Author  himself,  any  originality  but 
our  own  could  be  expected  to  content  us  !  In  fact,  all  strange 
things  are  apt,  without  fault  of  theirs,  to  estrange  us  at  first 


JEAN  PAUL  FRIEDRICH  RICHTER.  15 

view  ;  unhappily  scarcely  anything  is  perfectly  plain,  but 
what  is  also  perfectly  common.  The  current  coin  of  the  realm 
passes  into  all  hands  ;  and  be  it  gold,  silver,  or  copper,  is  ac- 
ceptable and  of  known  value  :  but  with  new  ingots,  with  for- 
eign bars,  and  medals  of  Corinthian  brass,  the  case  is  widely 
different. 

There  are  few  writers  with  whom  deliberation  and  careful 
distrust  of  first  impressions  are  more  necessary  than  with 
Eichter.  He  is  a  phenomenon  from  the  very  surface  ;  he 
presents  himself  with  a  professed  and  determined  singularity  ; 
his  language  itself  is  a  stone  of  stumbling  to  the  critic  ;  to 
critics  of  the  grammarian  species,  an  unpardonable,  often  an 
insuperable,  rock  of  offence.  Not  that  he  is  ignorant  of 
grammar,  or  disdains  the  sciences  of  spelling  and  parsing ; 
but  he  exercises  both  in  a  certain  latitudinarian  spirit ;  deals 
with  astonishing  liberality  in  parentheses,  dashes,  and  sub- 
sidiary clauses  ;  invents  hundreds  of  new  words,  alters  old 
ones,  or,  by  hyphen,  chains  and  pairs  and  packs  them  to- 
gether into  most  jarring  combination  ;  in  short,  produces 
sentences  of  the  most  heterogeneous,  lumbering,  interminable 
kind.  Figures  without  limit  ;  indeed,  the  whole  is  one  tissue 
of  metaphors,  and  similes,  and  allusions  to  all  the  provinces 
of  Earth,  Sea  and  Air  ;  interlaced  with  epigrammatic  breaks, 
vehement  bursts,  or  sardonic  turns,  interjections,  quips,  puns, 
and  even  oaths  !  A  perfect  Indian  jungle  it  seems  ;  a  bound- 
less, unparalleled  imbroglio  ;  nothing  on  all  sides  but  dark- 
ness, dissonance,  confusion  worse  confounded !  Then  the 
style  of  the  whole  corresponds,  in  perplexity  and  extrava- 
gance, with  that  of  the  parts.  Every  work,  be  it  fiction  or 
serious  treatise,  is  embaled  in  some  fantastic  wrappage,  some 
mad  narrative  accounting  for  its  appearance,  and  connecting 
it  with  the  author,  who  generally  becomes  a  person  in  the 
drama  himself,  before  all  is  over.  He  has  a  whole  imaginary 
geography  of  Europe  in  his  novels  ;  the  cities  of  Flachsen- 
fingen,  Haarhaar,  Scheerau,  and  so  forth,  with  their  princes, 
and  privy-councillors,  and  serene  highnesses  ;  most  of  whom, 
odd  enough  fellows  everyway,  are  Richter's  private  acquaint- 
ances,  talk  with  him   of  state   matters  (in  the   purest  Tory 


16  JEAN  PAUL  FRIEDRICH  RICHTER. 

dialect),  and  often  incite  him  to  get  on  with  his  writing.  No 
story  proceeds  without  the  most  erratic  digressions,  and  vo- 
luminous tagrags  rolling  after  it  in  many  a  snaky  twine. 
Ever  and  anon  there  occurs  some  '  Extra-leaf,'  with  its  satiri- 
cal petition,  program,  or  other  wonderful  intercalation,  no 
mortal  can  foresee  on  what.  It  is,  indeed,  a  mighty  maze  ; 
and  often  the  panting  reader  toils  after  him  in  vain  ;  or,  baf- 
fled and  spent,  indignantly  stops  short,  and  retires,  perhaps 
forever. 

All  this,  we  must  admit,  is  true  of  Eichter ;  but  much 
more  is  true  also.  Let  us  not  turn  from  him  after  the  first 
cursory  glance,  and  imagine  we  have  settled  his  account  by 
the  words  Rhapsody  and  Affectation.  They  are  cheap  words, 
and  of  sovereign  potency  ;  we  should  see,  therefore,  that  they 
be  not  rashly  applied.  Many  things  in  Richter  accord  ill  with 
such  a  theory.  There  are  rays  of  the  keenest  truth,  nay  steady 
pillars  of  scientific  light  rising  through  this  chaos  :  Is  it  in  fact 
a  chaos  ;  or  may  it  be  that  our  eyes  are  of  finite,  not  of  infinite 
vision,  and  have  only  missed  the  plan?  Few  ' rhapsodists ' 
are  men  of  science,  of  solid  learning,  of  rigorous  study,  and  ac- 
curate, extensive,  nay  universal  knowledge  ;  as  he  is.  With  re- 
gard to  affectation  also,  there  is  much  to  be  said.  The  essence 
of  affectation  is  that  it  be  assumed:  the  character  is,  as  it 
were,  forcibly  crushed  into  some  foreign  mould,  in  the  hope  of 
being  thereby  reshaped  and  beautified  ;  the  unhappy  man  per- 
suades himself  that  he  has  in  truth  become  a  new  creature,  of 
the  wonderfullest  symmetry ;  and  so  he  moves  about  with  a 
conscious  air,  though  every  movement  betrays  not  symmetry 
but  dislocation.  This  it  is  to  be  affected,  to  walk  in  a  vain 
show.  But  the  strangeness  alone  is  no  proof  of  the  vanity. 
Many  men  that  move  smoothly  in  the  old-established  railways 
of  custom  will  be  found  to  have  their  affectation  ;  and  per- 
haps here  and  there  some  divergent  genius  be  accused  of  it 
unjustly.  The  show,  though  common,  may  not  cease  to  be 
vain ;  nor  become  so  for  being  uncommon.  Before  we  cen- 
sure a  man  for  seeming  what  he  is  not,  we  should  be  sure 
that  we  know  what  he  is.  As  to  Richter  in  particular,  we 
cannot  but  observe,  that,  strange  and  tumultuous  as  he  is, 


JEAN  PAUL   FRIEDRICH  RICHTER.  17 

there  is  a  certain  benign  composure  visible  in  his  writings ;  a 
mercy,  a  gladness,  a  reverence,  united  in  such  harmony  as  be- 
speaks not  a  false,  but  a  genuine  state  of  mind ;  not  a  fever- 
ish and  morbid,  but  a  healthy  and  robust  state. 

The  secret  of  the  matter  is,  that  Eichter  requires  more 
study  than  most  readers  care  to  give  him.  As  we  approach 
more  closely,  many  things  grow  clearer.  In  the  man's  own 
sphere  there  is  consistency  ;  the  farther  we  advance  into  it, 
we  see  confusion  more  and  more  unfold  itself  into  order,  till 
at  last,  viewed  from  its  proper  centre,  his  intellectual  uni- 
verse, no  longer  a  distorted  incoherent  series  of  air-land- 
scapes, coalesces  into  compact  expansion  ;  a  vast,  magnificent, 
and  variegated  scene  ;  full  of  wondrous  products  ;  rude,  it 
may  be,  and  irregular ;  but  gorgeous,  benignant,  great ;  gay 
with  the  richest  verdure  and  foliage,  glittering  in  the  bright- 
est and  kindest  sun. 

Eichter  has  been  called  an  intellectual  Colossus  ;  and  in 
truth  it  is  somewhat  in  this  light  that  we  view  him.  His 
faculties  are  all  of  gigantic  mould  ;  cumbrous,  awkward  in 
their  movements ;  large  and  splendid,  rather  than  harmoni- 
ous or  beautiful ;  yet  joined  in  living  union  ;  and  of  force 
and  compass  altogether  extraordinary.  He  has  an  intellect 
vehement,  rugged,  irresistible  ;  crushing  in  pieces  the  hard- 
est problems  ;  piercing  into  the  most  hidden  combinations  of 
things,  and  grasping  the  most  distant :  an  imagination  vague, 
sombre,  splendid,  or  appalling  ;  brooding  over  the  abysses  of 
Being  ;  wandering  through  Infinitude,  and  summoning  before 
us,  in  its  dim  religious  light,  shapes  of  brilliancy,  solemnity, 
or  terror  :  a  fancy  of  exuberance  literally  unexampled  ;  for  it 
pours  its  treasures  with  a  lavishness  which  knows  no  limit, 
hanging,  like  the  sun,  a  jewel  on  every  grass-blade,  and  sow- 
ing the  earth  at  large  with  orient  pearl.  But  deeper  than  all 
these  lies  Humour,  the  ruling  quality  with  Eichter ;  as  it 
were  the  central  fire  that  pervades  and  vivifies  his  whole  be- 
ing. He  is  a  humorist  from  his  inmost  soul ;  he  thinks  as  a 
humorist,  he  feels,  imagines,  acts  as  a  humorist :  SjDort  is  the 
element  in  which  his  nature  lives  and  works.  A  tumultuous 
element  for  such  a  nature,  and  wild  work  he  makes  in  it !  A 
2 


18  JEAN  PAUL  FRIED  RICH  RICHTER. 

Titan  in  his  sport  as  in  his  earnestness,  he  oversteps  all 
bound,  and  riots  without  law  or  measure.  He  heaps  Pelion 
upon  Ossa,  and  hurls  the  universe  together  and  asunder  like 
a  case  of  playthings.  The  Moon  '  bombards '  the  Earth,  being 
a  rebellious  satellite  ;  Mars  '  preaches '  to  the  other  planets, 
ver}r  singular  doctrine  ;  nay,  we  have  Time  and  Space  them- 
selves playing  fantastic  tricks  :  it  is  an  infinite  masquerade  ; 
all  Nature  is  gone  forth  mumming  in  the  strangest  guises. 

Yet  the  anarchy  is  not  without  its  purpose  :  these  vizards 
are  not  mere  hollow  masks  ;  there  are  living  faces  under 
them,  and  this  mumming  has  its  significance.  Richter  is  a 
man  of  mirth,  but  he  seldom  or  never  condescends  to  be  a 
merryandrew.  Nay,  in  spite  of  its  extravagance,  we  should 
say  that  his  humour  is  of  all  his  gifts  intrinsically  the  finest 
and  most  genuine.  It  has  such  witching  turns  ;  there  is  some- 
thing in  it  so  capricious,  so  quaint,  so  heartfelt.  From  his 
Cyclopean  workshop,  and  its  fuliginous  limbecs,  and  huge 
unwieldy  machinery,  the  little  shrivelled  twisted  Figure  comes 
forth  at  last,  so  perfect  and  so  living,  to  be  forever  laughed 
at  and  forever  loved  !  Wayward  as  he  seems,  he  works  not 
without  forethought :  like  Rubens,  by  a  single  stroke,  he  can 
change  a  laughing  face  into  a  sad  one.  But  in  his  smile  itself 
a  touching  pathos  may  lie  hidden,  a  pity  too  deep  for  tears. 
He  is  a  man  of  feeling,  in  the  noblest  sense  of  that  word  ;  for 
he  loves  all  living  with  the  heart  of  a  brother  ;  his  soul  rushes 
forth,  in  sympathy  with  gladness  and  sorrow,  with  goodness 
or  grandeur,  over  all  Creation.  Every  gentle  and  generous 
affection,  every  thrill  of  mercy,  every  glow  of  nobleness, 
awakens  in  his  bosom  a  response  ;  nay  strikes  his  spirit  into 
harmony  ;  a  wild  music  as  of  wind-harps,  floating  round  us  in 
fitful  swells,  but  soft  sometimes,  and  pure  and  soul-entranc- 
ing, as  the  song  of  angels !  Aversion  itself  with  him  is  not 
hatred  ;  he  despises  much,  but  justly,  with  tolerance  also, 
with  placidity,  and  even  a  sort  of  love.  Love,  in  fact,  is  the 
atmosphere  he  breathes  in,  the  medium  through  which  he 
looks.  His  is  the  spirit  which  gives  life  and  beauty  to  what- 
ever it  embraces.  Inanimate  Nature  itself  is  no  longer  an 
insensible  assemblage  of  colours  and  perfumes,  but  a  mvs- 


JEAN  PAUL  FRTEDRICU  RICHTER.  19 

terious  Presence,  with  which  he  communes  in  unutterable 
sympathies.  We  might  call  him,  as  he  once  called  Herder, 
'a  Priest  of  Nature,  a  mild  Bramin,'  wandering  amid  spkyy 
groves,  and  under  benignant  skies.  Tiie  infinite  Night  with 
her  solemn  aspects,  Day,  and  the  sweet  approach  of  Even 
and  Morn,  are  full  of  meaning  for  him.  He  loves  the  green 
Earth  with  her  streams  and  forests,  her  flowery  leas  and 
eternal  skies  ;  loves  her  with  a  sort  of  passion,  in  all  her  vicis- 
situdes of  light  and  shade  ;  his  spirit  revels  in  her  grandeur 
and  charms  ;  expands  like  the  breeze  over  wood  and  lawn, 
over  glade  and  dingle,  stealing  and  giving  odours. 

It  has  sometimes  been  made  a  wonder  that  things  so  dis- 
cordant should  go  together  ;  that  men  of  humour  are  often 
likewise  men  of  sensibility.  But  the  wonder  should  rather 
be  to  see  them  divided  ;  to  find  true  genial  humour  dwell- 
ing in  a  mind  that  was  coarse  or  callous.  The  essence  of 
humour  is  sensibility  ;  warm,  tender  fellow-feeling  with  all 
forms  of  existence.  Nay,  we  may  say  that  unless  seasoned 
and  purified  by  humour,  sensibility  is  apt  to  run  wild  ;  will 
readily  corrupt  into  disease,  falsehood,  or,  in  one  word,  sen- 
timentality. Witness  Rousseau,  Zimmerman,  in  some  points 
also  St.  Pierre  :  to  say  nothing  of  living  instances  ;  or  of  the 
Kotzebues,  and  other  pale  host  of  woe-begone  mourners, 
whose  wailings,  like  the  howl  of  an  Irish  wake,  have  from 
time  to  time  cleft  the  general  ear.  '  The  last  perfection  of 
our  faculties,'  says  Schiller  with  a  truth  far  deeper  than  it 
seems,  '  is  that  their  activity,  without  ceasing  to  be  sure  and 
earnest,  become  sjwrt.'  True  humour  is  sensibility,  in  the 
most  catholic  and  deepest  sense  ;  but  it  is  this  sport  of  sensi- 
bility ;  wholesome  and  perfect  therefore  ;  as  it  were,  the 
playful  teazing  fondness  of  a  mother  to  her  child. 

That  faculty  of  irony,  of  caricature,  which  often  passes  by 
the  name  of  humour,  but  consists  chiefly  in  a  certain  super- 
ficial distortion  or  reversal  of  objects,  and  ends  at  best  in 
laughter,  bears  no  resemblance  to  the  humour  of  Richter. 
A  shallow  endowment  this  ;  and  often  more  a  habit  than  an 
endowment.  It  is  but  a  poor  fraction  of  humour  ;  or  rather, 
it  is  the   body  to  which  the   soul  is  wanting  ;  anv  life  it   has 


20  JEAN  PAUL  F1UEDRICII  RICHTER. 

being  false,  artificial  and  irrational.  True  humour  springs 
not  more  from  the  head  than  from  the  heart  ;  it  is  not  con- 
tempt, its  essence  is  love  ;  it  issues  not  in  laughter,  but  in 
still  smiles,  which  lie  far  deeper.  It  is  a  sort  of  inverse  sub- 
limit}' ;  exalting,  as  it  were,  into  our  affections  what  is  below 
us,  while  sublimity  draws  down  into  our  affections  what  is 
above  us.  The  former  is  scarcely  less  precious  or  heart- 
affecting  than  the  latter ;  perhaps  it  is  still  rarer,  and,  as  a 
test  of  genius,  still  more  decisive.  It  is,  in  fact,  the  bloom 
and  perfume,  the  purest  effluence  of  a  deep,  fine  and  loving- 
nature  ;  a  nature  in  harmony  with  itself,  reconciled  to  the 
world  and  its  stintedness  and  contradiction,  nay  finding  in 
this  very  contradiction  new  elements  of  beauty  as  well  as 
goodness.  Anong  our  own  writers,  Shakspeare,  in  this  as  in 
all  other  provinces,  must  have  his  place  :  yet  not  the  first ; 
his  humour  is  heartfelt,  exuberant,  warm,  but  seldom  the 
tenderest  or  most  subtle.  Swift  inclines  more  to  simple 
irony  ;  yet  he  had  genuine  humour  too,  and  of  no  unloving 
sort,  though  cased,  like  Ben  Jonson's,  in  a  most  bitter  and 
caustic  rind.  Sterne  follows  next ;  our  last  specimen  of  hu- 
mour, and,  with  all  his  faults,  our  best  ;  our  finest,  if  not  our 
strongest  ;  for  Yorick  and  Corporal  Trim  and  Uncle  Toby 
have  yet  no  brother  but  in  Don  Quixote,  far  as  he  lies-  above 
them.  Cervantes  is  indeed  the  purest  of  all  humorists ;  so 
gentle  and  genial,  so  full,  yet  so  ethereal  is  his  humour,  and 
in  such  accordance  with  itself  and  his  whole  noble  nature. 
The  Italian  mind  is  said  to  abound  in  humour  ;  yet  their 
classics  seem  to  give  us  no  right  emblem  of  it :  except  per- 
haps in  Ariosto,  there  appears  little  in  their  current  poetry 
that  reaches  the  region  of  true  humour.  In  France,  since 
the  days  of  Montaigne,  it  seems  to  be  nearly  extinct.  Vol- 
taire, much  as  he  dealt  in  ridicule,  never  rises  into  humour ; 
even  with  Moliere,  it  is  far  more  an  affair  of  the  understand- 
ing than  of  the  character. 

That,  in  this  point,  Eichter  excels  all  German  authors,  is 
saying  much  for  him,  and  may  be  said  truly.  Lessing  has 
humour, — of  a  sharp,  rigid,  substantial,  and,  on  the  whole, 
genial  sort ;  yet  the  ruling  bias  of  his  mind  is  to  logic.     So 


JEAN  PAUL   FRIEDULCII'RICIITER.  21 

likewise  lias  Wieland,  though  much  diluted  by  the  general 
loquacity  of  his  nature,  and  impoverished  still  farther  by  the 
influences  of  a  cold,  meagre,  French  scepticism.  Among  the 
Ramlers,  Gellerts,  Hagedorns,  of  Frederick  the  Second's  time, 
we  find  abundance,  and  delicate  in  kind  too,  of  that  light  mat- 
ter which  the  French  call  pleasantry  ;  but  little  or  nothing 
that  deserves  the  name  of  humour.  In  the  present  age,  how- 
ever, there  is  Goethe,  with  a  rich  true  vein  ;  and  this  subli- 
mated, as  it  were,  to  an  essence,  and  blended  in  still  union 
with  his  whole  mind.  Tieck  also,  among  his  many  fine  sus- 
ceptibilities, is  not  without  a  warm  keen  sense  for  the  ridicu- 
lous ;  and  a  humour  rising,  though  by  short  fits,  and  from  a 
much  lower  atmosphere,  to  be  poetic.  But  of  all  these  men, 
there  is  none  that,  in  depth,  copiousness  and  intensity  of  hu- 
mour, can  be  compared  with  Jean  Paul.  He  alone  exists  in 
humour  ;  lives,  moves  and  has  his  being  in  it.  With  him  it 
is  not  so  much  united  to  his  other  qualities,  of  intellect,  fancy, 
imagination,  moral  feeling,  as  these  are  united  to  it ;  or  rather 
unite  themselves  to  it,  and  grow  under  its  warmth,  as  in  their 
proper  temperature  and  climate.  Not  as  if  we  meant  to  as- 
sert that  his  humour  is  in  all  cases  perfectly  natural  and  pure  ; 
nay,  that  it  is  not  often  extravagant,  untrue,  or  even  absurd  : 
but  still,  on  the  whole,  the  core  and  life  of  it  are  genuine, 
subtle,  spiritual.  Not  without  reason  have  his  panegyrists 
named  him  '  Jean  Paul  der  Einzige,  Jean  Paul  the  Unique  : ' 
in  one  sense  or  the  other  either  as  praise  or  censure,  his 
critics  also  must  adopt  this  epithet  ;  for  surely,  in  the  whole 
circle  of  Literature,  we  look  in  vain  for  his  parallel.  Unite 
the  sportfulness  of  Rabelais,  and  the  best  sensibility  of  Sterne, 
with  the  earnestness,  and,  even  in  slight  portions,  the  sub- 
limity of  Milton  ;  and  let  the  mosaic  brain  of  old  Burton  give 
forth  the  workings  of  this  strange  union,  with  the  pen  of 
Jeremy  Bentham  ! 

To  say  how,  with  so  peculiar  a  natural  endowment,  Richter 
should  have  shaped  his  mind  by  culture,  is  much  harder  than 
to  say  that  he  has  shaped  it  wrong.  Of  affectation  we  will 
neither  altogether  clear  him,  nor  very  loudly  pronounce  him 
guilty.     That  his  manner  of  writing  is  singular,  nay  in  fact,  a 


"22  JEAN  PAUL  FRIEDIUCH  R1CHTER. 

wild  complicated  Arabesque,  no  one  can  deny.  But  the  true 
question  is,  How  nearly  does  this  manner  of  writing  represent 
his  real  manner  of  thinking  and  existing  ?  With  what  degree 
of  freedom  does  it  allow  this  particular  form  of  being  to  man- 
ifest itself  ;  or  what  fetters  and  perversions  does  it  lay  on  such 
manifestations  ?  For  the  great  law  of  culture  is :  Let  each 
become  all  that  he  was  created  capable  of  being  ;  expand,  if 
possible,  to  his  full  growth  ;  resisting  all  impediments,  cast- 
ing off  all  foreign,  especially  all  noxious  adhesions  ;  and  show 
himself  at  length  in  his  own  shape  and  stature,  be  these  what 
they  may.  There  is  no  uniform  of  excellence,  either  in  phys- 
ical or  spiritual  Nature  :  all  genuine  things  are  what  they 
ought  to  be  The  reindeer  is  good  and  beautiful,  so  likewise 
is  the  elephant.  In  Literature  it  is  the  same  :  'every  man,' 
says  Lessing,  '  has  his  own  style,  like  his  own  nose.'  True, 
there  are  noses  of  wonderful  dimensions  ;  but  no  nose  can 
justly  be  amputated  by  the  public, — not  even  the  nose  of 
Slawkenbergius  himself  ;  so  it  be  a  real  nose,  and  no  wooden 
one,  put  on  for  deception's  sake  and  mere  show ! 

To  speak  in  grave  language,  Lessing  means,  and  we  agree 
with  him,  that  the  outward  style  is  to  be  judged  of  by  the  in- 
ward qualities  of  the  spirit  which  it  is  employed  to  body  forth  ; 
that,  without  prejudice  to  critical  propriety  well  understood, 
the  former  may  vary  into  many  shapes  as  the  latter  varies ; 
that,  in  short,  the  grand  point  for  a  writer  is  not  to  be  of  this 
or  that  external  make  and  fashion,  but,  in  every  fashion,  to 
be  genuine,  vigorous,  alive, — alive  with  his  whole  being,  con- 
sciously, and  for  beneficent  results. 

Tried  by  this  test,  we  imagine  Richter's  wild  manner  will 
be  found  less  imperfect  than  many  a  very  tame  one.  To  the 
man  it  may  not  be  unsuitable.  In  that  singular  form,  there 
is  a  fire,  a  splendour,  a  benign  energy,  which  persuades  us 
into  tolerance,  nay  into  love,  of  much  that  might  otherwise 
offend.  Above  all,  this  man,  alloyed  with  imperfections  as  be 
may  be,  is  consistent  and  coherent  :  he  is  at  one  with  him- 
self ;  he  knows  his  aims,  and  pursues  them  in  sincerity  of 
heart,  joyfully  and  with  undivided  will.  A  harmonious  de- 
velopment of  being,  the  first  and  last  object  of  all  true  culture, 


JEAN  PAUL  FRIEDRICH  RICHTER.  23 

has  been  obtained  ;  if  not  completely,  at  least  more  completely 
than  in  one  of  a  thousand  ordinary  men.  Nor  let  us  forget, 
that,  in  such  a  nature,,  it  was  not  of  easy  attainment ;  that 
where  much  was  to  be  developed,  some  imperfection  should 
be  forgiven.  It  is  true,  the  beaten  paths  of  Literature  lead 
the  safeliest  to  the  goal ;  and  the  talent  pleases  us  most,  which 
submits  to  shine  with  new  gracefulness  through  old  forms. 
Nor  is  the  noblest  and  most  peculiar  mind  too  noble  or  pecul- 
iar for  working  by  prescribed  laws  :  Sophocles,  Shakespeare, 
Cervantes,  and  in  Richter's  own  age,  Goethe,  how  little  did 
they  innovate  on  the  given  forms  of  composition,  how  much 
in  the  spirit  they  breathed  into  them !  All  this  is  true  ;  and 
Richter  must  lose  of  our  esteem  in  proportion.  Much)  how- 
ever, will  remain  ;  and  why  should  we  quarrel  with  the  high, 
because  it  is  not  the  highest  ?  Richter's  worst  faults  are 
nearly  allied  to  his  best  merits ;  being  chiefly  exuberance  of 
good,  irregular  squandering  of  wealth,  a  dazzling  with  excess 
of  true  light.  These  things  may  be  pardoned  the  more 
readily,  as  they  are  little  likely  to  be  imitated. 

On  the  whole,  Genius  has  privileges  of  its  own  ;  it  selects 
an  orbit  for  itself  ;  and  be  this  never  so  eccentric,  if  it  is  in- 
deed a  celestial  orbit,  we  mere  star-gazers  must  at  last  com- 
pose ourselves  ;  must  cease  to  cavil  at  it,  and  begin  to  observe 
it,  and  calculate  its  laws.  That  Richter  is  a  new  Planet  in  the 
intellectual  heavens,  we  dare  not  affirm  ;  an  atmospheric  Me- 
teor he  is  not  wholly  ;  perhaps  a  Comet,  that,  though  with  long 
aberrations,  and  shrouded  in  a  nebulous  veil,  has  yet  its  place 
in  the  empyrean. 

Of  Richter's  individual  Works,  of  his  opinions,  his  general 
philosophy  of  life,  we  have  no  room  left  us  to  speak.  Regard- 
ing his  Novels,  we  may  say,  that,  except  in  some  few  instances, 
and  those  chieily  of  the  shorter  class,  they  are  not  what,  in 
strict  language,  we  can  term  unities  :  with  much  ccUUdajunc- 
tura  of  parts,  it  is  rare  that  any  of  them  leaves  on  us  the  im- 
pression of  a  perfect,  homogeneous,  indivisible  whole.  A  true 
work  of  art  requires  to  be  fused  in  the  mind  of  its  creator, 
and,  as  it  were,  poured  forth  (from  his  imagination,  though 


24  JEAN  PAUL  FRIEDRIGH  RICHTER. 

not  from  his  pen)  at  one  simultaneous  gush.  Richter's  works 
do  not  always  bear  sufficient  marks  of  having  been  infusion  ; 
yet  neither  are  they  merely  riveted  together  ;  to  say  the  least, 
they  have  been  welded.  A  similar  remark  applies  to  many  of 
his  characters  ;  indeed,  more  or  less  to  all  of  them,  except 
such  as  are  entirely  humorous,  or  have  a  large  dash  of  hu- 
mour. In  this  latter  province  he  is  at  home  ;  a  true  poet,  a 
maker  ;  his  Siebenkds,  his  Schmelzle,  even  his  Fibel  and  Fixlein 
are  living  figures.  But  in  heroic  personages,  passionate,  mass- 
ive, overpowering  as  he  is,  we  have  scarcely  ever  a  complete 
ideal ;  art  has  not  attained  to  the  concealment  of  itself.  With 
his  heroines  again  he  is  more  successful ;  they  are  often  true 
heroines,  though  perhaps  with  too  little  variety  of  character  ; 
bustling,  buxom  mothers  and  housewives,  with  all  the  caprices, 
perversities,  and  warm,  generous  helpfulness  of  women  ;  or 
white,  half-angelic  creatures,  meek,  still,  long-suffering,  high- 
minded,  of  tenderest  affections,  and  hearts  crushed  yet  un- 
complaining. Supernatural  figures  he  has  not  attempted  ;  and 
wisely,  for  he  cannot  write  without  belief.  Yet  many  times 
he  exhibits  an  imagination  of  a  singularity,  nay  on  the  whole, 
of  a  truth  and  grandeur,  unexampled  elsewhere.  In  his 
Dreams  there  is  a  mystic  complexity,  a  gloom,  and  amid  the 
dim  gigantic  half-ghastly  shadows,  gleamings  of  a  wizard 
splendour,  which  almost  recall  to  us  the  visions  of  Ezekiel. 
By  readers  who  have  studied  the  Dream  in  the  New-Year's  Eve 
we  shall  not  be  mistaken. 

Richter's  Philosophy,  a  matter  of  no  ordinary  interest,  both 
as  it  agrees  with  the  common  philosophy  of  Germany  and 
disagrees  with  it,  must  not  be  touched  on  for  the  present. 
One  only  observation  we  shall  make  :  it  is  not  mechanical,  or 
sceptical ;  it  springs  not  from  the  forum  or  the  laboratory,  but 
from  the  dejDths  of  the  human  spirit ;  and  yields  as  its  fairest 
product  a  noble  system  of  Morality,  and  the  firmest  conviction 
of  Religion.  In  this  latter  point  we  reckon  him  peculiarly 
worthy  of  study.  To  a  careless  reader  he  might  seem  the  wild- 
est of  infidels  ;  for  nothing  can  exceed  the  freedom  with  which 
he  bandies  to  and  fro  the  dogmas  of  religion,  nay,  sometimes, 
the  highest  objects  of  Christian  reverence.     There  are  pas- 


JEAN  PAUL  FRIEDIUCH  RICHTER.  25 

sages  of  this  sort,  which  will  occur  to  every  reader  of  Richter  : 
but  which,  not  to  fall  into  the  error  we  have  already  blamed 
in  Madame  de  Stael,  we  shall  refrain  from  quoting.  More 
light  is  in  the  following  :  '  Or,'  inquires  he,  in  his  usual  abrupt 
way,  '  Or  are  all  your  Mosques,  Episcopal  Churches,  Pagodas, 
'  Chapels  of  Ease,  Tabernacles,  and  Pantheons,  anything  else 
'  but  the  Ethnic  Forecourt  of  the  Invisible  Temple  and  its 
'  Holy  of  Holies  ? ' l  Yet,  independently  of  all  dogmas,  nay 
perhaps  in  spite  of  many,  Richter  is,  in  the  highest  sense  of 
the  word,  religious.  A  reverence,  not  a  self-interested  fear, 
but  a  noble  reverence  for  the  spirit  of  all  goodness,  forms  the 
crown  and  glory  of  his  culture.  The  fiery  elements  of  his 
nature  have  been  purified  under  holy  influences,  and  chast- 
ened by  a  principle  of  mercy  and  humility  into  peace  and  well- 
doing. An  intense  and  continual  faith  in  man's  immortality 
and  native  grandeur  accompanies  him  ;  from  amid  the  vortices 
of  life,  he  looks  up  to  a  heavenly  loadstar  ;  the  solution  of 
what  is  visible  and  transient,  he  finds  in  what  is  invisible  and 
eternal.  He  has  doubted,  he  denies,  yet  he  believes.  '  When, 
in  your  last  hour,'  says  he,2  '  when,  in  your  last  hour  (think 
'  of  this),  all  faculty  in  the  broken  spirit  shall  fade  away  and 
'  die  into  inanity, — imagination,  thought,  effort,  enjoyment, 
'  — then  at  last  will  the  night-flower  of  Belief  alone  continue 
■  blooming,  and  refresh  with  its  perfumes  in  the  last  dark- 
'  ness.' 

To  reconcile  these  seeming  contradictions,  to  explain  the 
grounds,  the  manner,  the  congruity  of  Richter's  belief,  cannot 
be  attempted  here.  We  recommend  him  to  the  study,  the 
tolerance,  and  even  the  praise,  of  all  men  who  have  inquired 
into  this  highest  of  questions  with  a  right  spirit ;  inquired 
with  the  martyr  fearlessness,  but  also  with  the  martyr  rever- 
ence, of  men  that  love  Truth,  and  will  not  accept  a  lie.  A 
frank,  fearless,  honest,  yet  truly  spiritual  faith  is  of  all  things 
the  rarest  in  our  time. 

Of  writings  which,  though  with  many  reservations,  we  have 
praised  so  much,  our  hesitating  readers  may  demand  some 
specimen.     To  unbelievers,  unhappily,  we  have  none  of  a  con- 
1  Note  to  Schmelde's  Journey.  2  Lemna,  p.  251. 


•'  ■■? 


26  JEAN  PAUL   FRIEDBIGH  EI  CUTER. 

vincing  sort  to  give.  Ask  us  not  to  represent  the  Peruvian 
forests  by  three  twigs  plucked  from  them  ;  or  the  cataracts  of 
the  Nile  by  a  handful  of  its  water  !  To  those,  meanwhile,  who 
will  look  on  twigs  as  mere  dissevered  twigs,  and  a  handful  of 
water  as  only  so  many  drops,  we  present  the  following.  It  is 
a  summer  Sunday  night  ;  Jean  Paul  is  taking  leave  of  the 
Hukelum  Parson  and  his  wife  ;  like  him  we  have  long  laughed 
at  them  or  wept  for  them  ;  like  him,  also,  we  are  sad  to  part 
from  them  : 

'  We  were  all  of  us  too  deeply  moved.  We  at  last  tore  our- 
selves asunder  from  repeated  embraces ;  my  friend  retired 
with  the  soul  whom  he  loves.  I  remained  alone  behind  with 
the  Night. 

'  And  I  walked  without  aim  through  woods,  through  valleys, 
and  over  brooks,  and  through  sleeping  villages,  to  enjoy  the 
great  Night,  like  a  Day.  I  walked,  and  still  looked,  like  the 
magnet,  to  the  region  of  midnight,  to  strengthen  my  heart  at 
the  gleaming  twilight,  at  this  upstretching  aurora  of  a  morn- 
ing beneath  our  feet.  White  night-butterflies  flitted,  white 
blossoms  fluttered,  white  stars  fell,  and  the  white  snow-powder 
hung  silvery  in  the  high  Shadow  of  the  Earth,  which  reaches 
beyond  the  Moon,  and  which  is  our  Night.  Then  began  the 
iEolian  Harp  of  the  Creation  to  tremble  and  to  sound,  blown  on 
from  above  ;  and  my  immortal  Soul  was  a  string  in  that  Harp. 
— The  heart  of  a  brother,  everlasting  Man,  swelled  under 
the  everlasting  heaven,  as  the  seas  swell  under  the  sun  and 
under  the  moon. — The  distant  village  clocks  struck  midnight, 
mingling,  as  it  were,  with  the  ever-pealing  tone  of  ancient 
Eternity. — The  limbs  of  my  buried  ones  touched  cold  on  my 
soul,  and  drove  away  its  blots,  as  dead  hands  heal  eruptions 
of  the  skin. — I  walked  silently  through  little  hamlets,  and 
close  by  their  outer  churchyards,  where  crumbled  upcast  cof- 
fin-boards were  glimmering,  while  the  once-bright  eyes  that 
had  lain  in  them  were  mouldered  into  gray  ashes.  Cold 
thought !  clutch  not  like  a  cold  spectre  at  my  heart :  I  look 
up  to  the  starry  sky,  and  an  everlasting  chain  stretches  thither, 
and  over,  and  below  ;  and  all  is  Life,  and  Warmth,  and  Light, 
and  all  is  Godlike  or  God. 

'Towards  morning,  I  descried  thy  late  lights,  little  city  of 
my  dwelling,  which  I  belong  to  on  this  side  the  grave  ;  I  re- 
turned to  the  Earth  ;  and  in  ihy  steeples,  behind  the  by -ad- 


JEAN  PAUL  FRIED  RICH  Rl CUTER.  27 

vanced  great  midnight,  it  struck  half -past  two  :  about  this 
hour,  in  1794,  Mars  went  down  in  the  west,  and  the  Moon 
rose  in  the  east  ;  and  my  soul  desired,  in  grief  for  the  noble 
warlike  blood  which  is  still  streaming  on  the  blossoms  of 
Spring  :  "  Ah,  retire,  bloody  War,  like  red  Mars  ;  and  thou, 
still  Peace,  come  forth  like  the  mild  divided  Moon/"  ' 

Such,  seen  through  no  uncoloured  medium,  but  in  dim  re- 
moteness, and  sketched  in  hurried  transitory  outline,  are  some 
features  of  Jean  Paul  Friedrich  Richter  and  his  Works.  Ger- 
many has  long  loved  him  ;  to  England  also  he  must  one  day 
become  known ;  for  a  man  of  this  magnitude  belongs  not  to 
one  people,  but  to  the  world.  What  our  countrymen  may 
decide  of  him,  still  more  what  may  be  his  fortune  with  jdos- 
terity,  we  will  not  try  to  foretell.  Time  has  a  strange  con- 
tracting influence  on  many  a  wide-spread  fame  ;  yet  of  Richter 
we  will  say,  that  he  may  survive  much.  There  is  in  him  that 
wdiich  does  not  die  ;  that  Beauty  and  Earnestness  of  soul,  that , 
spirit  of  Humanity,  of  Love  and  mild  WTisdom,  over  which 
the  vicissitudes  of  mode  have  no  sway.  This  is  that  excellence 
of  the  inmost  nature  which  alone  confers  immortality  on  writ- 
ings ;  that  charm  which  still,  under  every  defacement,  binds 
us  to  the  pages  of  our  own  Hookers,  and  Taylors,  and  Brown  es, 
when  their  way  of  thought  has  long  ceased  to  be  ours,  and  the 
most  valued  of  their  merely  intellectual  opinions  have  passed 
away,  as  ours  too  must  do,  wTith  the  circumstances  and  events 
in  which  they  took  their  shape  or  rise.  To  men  of  a  right  mind, 
there  may  long  be  in  Richter  much  that  has  attraction  and  value. 
In  -the  moral  desert  of  vulgar  Literature,  with  its  sandy  wastes, 
and  parched,  bitter  and  too  often  poisonous  shrubs,  the  Writ- 
ings of  this  man  will  rise  in  their  irregular  luxuriance,  like  a 
cluster  of  date-trees,  with  its  greensward  and  well  of  water,  to 
refresh  the  pilgrim,  in  the  sultry  solitude,  with  nourishment 
and  shade. 

1  End  of  Quintus  Fixlein. 


STATE  OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


STATE  OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

Franz  Horn's  merits  as  a  literary  Historian,  (p.  31). — French  scepticism 
about  German  literature.  Duty  of  judging  justly  :  Human  Society,  at  the 
present  era,  struggling  to  body  itself  forth  anew  :  Necessity  for  an  open 
mind.  The  French  mind  conspicuously  shut :  English  ignorance  of  Germany 
accounted  for.  Difficulty  of  judging  rightly  the  character  of  a  foreign  peo- 
ple. The  Germans  in  particular  have  been  liable  to  misrepresentation. 
Madame  de  StaeTs  Alleniagne  did  much  to  excite  a  reasonable  curiosity : 
Promise  of  better  knowledge  and  friendlier  intercourse.  (33). — Groundle.-s  or 
half-grounded  objections  to  German  literature.  The  Germans  supposed  to 
have  a  radically  bad  taste  :  Of  what  section  of  their  literature  this  is  true. 
.The  first  condition  of  any  real  criticism,  a  transposition  of  the  critic  into  the 
author's  point  of  vision.  The  notion  that  outward  poverty  necessarily  tends 
to  inward  meanness  and  unsightliness.  True  taste  and  culture,  and  loving 
insight  into  truth  and  nobleness,  not  the  peculiar  possession  of  any  rank  : 
Claude  Lorraine,  Shakspeare,  and  many  others.  The  spirit  of  Mammon  has  a 
wide  empire,  but  must  not  be  worshipped  in  the  Holy  of  Holies.  (40)  — The 
German  authors  better  situated,  and  also  show  less  care  for  wealth,  than  many 
of  our  own.  The  German  nobility  not  insensible  to  genius:  Goethe.  The 
English  might  even  learn  of  them  in  this  respect.  Tne  Germans  not  defective 
in  taste  :  English  and  German  dulness  contrasted.  National  taste  can  only 
be  judged  from  its  perennial  models :  Wieland,  Klopstock,  Lessing,  the  two 
Jacobis,  Mendelssohn  and  others.  (47). — Germany  far  in  advance  of  other  na- 
tions. The  highest  Criticism  an  interpreter  between  the  inspired  and  the 
uninspired.  Every  literature  of  the  world  has  been  cultivated  by  the  Ger- 
mans. Essence  and  origin  of  Poetic  Beauty.  (54). — Bread-artists,  and  lovers 
of  "fame.'  Schiller's  noble  idea  of  a  true  Artist :  Fichte's.  The  plastic  arts  : 
Specimen  of  Goethe's  pictorial  criticism.  (60). — High  aspiration  and  earnest 
insight  of  German  Poetry  :  Goethe.  Growth  of  German  literature  parallel 
with  that  of  our  own  :  Utilitarianism  :  Passional  extravagance.  Byron,  in 
his  youth,  what  Schiller  and  Goethe  had  been  in  theirs  :  If  Germany  has 
gained  the  true  path,  we  too  shall  find  it.  (67). — German  literature  vaguely 
objected  to  for  its  Mysticism:  Mystical  generally  meaning  not  understood. 
Things  visible  and  invisible:  Methods  of  teaching  suitable  to  each.  Ten- 
dencies to  real"  mysticism  ;  a  George  Fox  or  Jacob  Bohme.  (73). — Absurdity 
of  styling  Kant  a  mystic  :  Distinctness  and  rigid  sequence  of  his  conceptions. 
Parlour-fire  Philosophy  of  mind  little  valued  in  Germany.  True  claims  of 
Kant,  Schelling  and  Fichte.  High  worth  of  the  Critical  Philosophy.  British 
inductive  Philosophy  since  the  time  of  Hume  :  Dugald  Stewart :  The  Ger- 
man eductive  method.  The  Kantian  distinction  between  Understanding  and 
Reason.  Charge  of  '  Irreligion.'  (77). — Superiority  of  the  Recent  Poetry  of 
Germany  :  A  little  light  precious  in  great  darkness.  Present  ominous  aspect 
of  spiritual  Europe.  Religion  and  Poetry  can  never  die,  however  little  their 
voice  may  be  heeded :  Happy  the  man  or  nation  that  can  hear  the  tidings 
they  are  forever  bringing,  and  can  profit  by  them.  ($7). 


STATE  OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE.' 

[1827.] 

These  two  Books,  notwithstanding  their  diversity  of  title, 
are  properly  parts  of  one  and  the  same  ;  the  Outlines,  though 
of  prior  date  in  regard  to  publication,  having  now  assumed 
the  character  of  sequel  and  conclusion  to  the  larger  Work, — 
of  fourth  volume  to  the  other  three.  It  is  designed,  of  course, 
for  the  home  market ;  yet  the  foreign  student  also  will  find  in 
it  a  safe  and  valuable  help,  and,  in  spite  of  its  imperfections, 
should  receive  it  with  thankfulness  and  goodwill.  Doubtless 
we  might  have  wished  for  a  keener  discriminative  and  descrip- 
tive talent,  and  perhaps  for  a  somewhat  more  catholic  spirit, 
in  the  writer  of  such  a  history  ;  but  in  their  absence  we  have 
still  much  to  praise.  Horn's  literary  creed  would,  on  the 
whole,  we  believe,  be  acknowledged  by  his  countrymen  as  the 
true  one  ;  and  this,  though  it  is  chiefly  from  one  immovable 
station  that  he  can  survey  his  subject,  he  seems  heartily  anx- 
ious to  apply  with  candour  and  tolerance.  Another  improve- 
ment might  have  been,  a  deeper  principle  of  arrangement,  a 
firmer  grouping  into  periods  and  schools  ;  for,  as  it  stands, 
the  work  is  more  a  critical  sketch  of  German  Poets,  than  a 
history  of  German  Poetry. 

1  Edinburgh  Review,  No.  92.  — 1.  Die  Poem  und  Beredmmkeit  der 
Deiitsehen,  von  Luthers  Zeit  bis  zur  Gegenwart.  DargesteUM  ton  Franz 
Horn.  (The  Poetry  and  Oratory  of  the  Germans,  from  Luther's  Time, 
to  the  Present.  Exhibited  by  Franz  Horn  )  Berlin,  1822,  '23.  '24. 
3  vols.  Svo. 

2.  Umrisse  zur  Gesehichte  und  Kritik  der  schonen  Litteratur  Deutsch- 
lunds  wahrend  der  Jalire  1790-1818.  (Outlines  for  the  History  and  Criti- 
cism of  Polite  Literature  in  Germany,  during  the  Years  1790-1818.)  By 
Franz  Horn.      Berlin,  1819.     8vo. 


32  STATE   OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

Let  us  not  quarrel,  however,  with  our  author ;  his  merits 
as  a  literary  historian  are  plain,  and  by  no  means  inconsider- 
able.    Without  rivalling  the  almost  frightful  laboriousness  of 
Bouterwek  or  Eichhom,   he   gives  creditable    proofs   of  re- 
search and  general  information,  and  possesses  a  lightness  in 
composition,  to  which  neither  of  these  erudite  persons  can 
well  pretend.     Undoubtedly  he  has  a  flowing  pen,  and  is  at 
home  in  this  province  ;  not. only  a  speaker  of  the  word,  in- 
deed, but  a  doer  of  the  work  ;   having   written,    besides  his 
great  variety  of  tracts  and  treatises,  biographical,  philosoph- 
ical and  critical,  several  very  deserving  works  of  a  poetic  sort. 
He  is  not,  it  must  be  owned,  a  very  strong  man,  but  he  is 
nimble  and  orderly,  and  goes  through  his  work  with  a  certain 
gaiety  of  heart ;    nay,   at  times,  with  a  frolicsome    alacrity, 
which  might  even  require   to  be  pardoned.     His   character 
seems  full  of  susceptibility ;    perhaps  too  much  so   for  its 
natural  vigour.     His  novels,  accordingly,  to  judge  from  the 
few  we  have  read  of  them,  verge  towards   the   sentimental. 
In  the  present  Work,  in  like  manner,  he  has  adopted  nearly 
all  the  best  ideas  of  his  contemporaries,  but  with  something 
of  an  undue  vehemence  ;  and  he  advocates  the   cause  of  re- 
ligion, integrity  and  true  poetic  taste  with  great  heartiness 
and  vivacity,  were  it  not  that  too  often  his  zeal  outruns  his 
prudence  and  insight.     Thus,  for  instance,  he  declares  repeat- 
edly, in  so  many  words,  that  no  mortal  can  be  a  poet  unless 
he  is  a  Christian.     The  meaning  here  is  very  good  ;  but  why 
this  phraseology  ?     Is  it  not  inviting  the  simple-minded  (not 
to  speak  of  scoffers,  wrhom  Horn  very  justly  sniffs  at,)  to  ask, 
When  Homer  subscribed  the  Thirty-nine  Articles ;  or  Whether 
Sadi  and   Hafiz  were  really  of  the  Bishop  of  Peterborough's 
opinion  ?     Again,  he  talks  too  often  of  '  representing  the  In- 
finite in  the  Finite,'  of  expressing  the  unspeakable,  and  such 
high  matters.     In  fact,  Horn's  style,  though  extremely  read- 
able, has  one  great  fault :  it  is,  to  speak  it  in  a  single  word, 
an  affected  style.     His  stream   of  meaning,    uniformly  clear 
and  wholesome  in  itself,  will  not  flow  quietly  along  its  chan- 
nel ;  but  it  is  ever  and  anon  spurting  itself  up  into  epigrams 
and  antithetic  jets.      Playful  he  is,  and  kindly,  and,  we  do 


STATE  OF   GERMAN  LITERATURE.  33 

believe,  honest-hearted  ;  but  there  is  a  certain  snappishness 
in  him,  a  frisking  abruptness  ;  and  then  his  sport  is  more  a 
perpetual  giggle,  than  any  dignified  smile,  or  even  any  suffi- 
cient laugh  with  gravity  succeeding  it.  This  sentence  is 
among  the  best  we  recollect  of  him,  and  will  partly  illustrate 
what  we  mean.  We  submit  it,  for  the  sake  of  its  import 
likewise,  to  all  superfine  speculators  on  the  Reformation,  in 
their  future  contrasts  of  Luther  and  Erasmus.  'Erasmus,' 
says  Horn,  '  belongs  to  that  species  of  writers  who  have  all 
'  the  desire  in  the  world  to  build  God  Almighty  a  magnificent 
'  church, — at  the  same  time,  however,  not  giving  the  Devil 
'  any  offence  ;  to  whom,  accordingly,  they  set  up  a  neat  little 
'  chapel  close  by,  where  you  can  offer  him  some  touch  of  sac- 
'  rifice  at  a  time,  and  practise  a  quiet  household  devotion  for 
'  him  without  disturbance.'  In  this  style  of  '  witty  and  con- 
ceited mirth,'  considerable  part  of  the  book  is  written. 

But  our  chief  business  at  present  is  not  with  Franz  Horn, 
or  his  book  ;  of  whom,  accordingly,  recommending  his  labours 
to  all  inquisitive  students  of  German,  and  himself  to  good 
estimation  with  all  good  men,  we  must  here  take  leave.  AVe 
have  a  word  or  two  to  say  on  that  strange  literature  itself  ; 
concerning  which  our  readers  probably  feel  more  curious  to 
learn  what  it  is,  than  with  what  skill  it  has  been  judged  of. 

Above  a  century  ago,  the  Pere  Bouhours  propounded  to 
himself  the  pregnant  question  :  Si  un  Allemand  pent  avoir  de 
Vesprit  ?  Had  the  Pere  Bouhours  bethought  him  of  what 
country  Kepler  and  Leibnitz  were,  or  who  it  was  that  gave 
to  mankind  the  three  great  elements  of  modern  civilisation, 
Gunpowder,  Printing,  and  the  Protestant  Religion,  it  might 
have  thrown  light  on  his  inquiry.  Had  he  known  the  Ni- 
belungen  Lied ;  and  where  Rewecke  Fachs,  and  Faust,  and 
ilie  Ship  of  Fools,  and  four  fifths  of  all  the  popular  mythol- 
ogy, humour  and  romance  to  be  found  in  Europe  in  the  six- 
teenth and  seventeeth  centuries,  took  its  rise  ;  had  he  read  a 
page  or  two  of  Ulrich  Hutten,  Opitz,  Paul  Flemming,  Logau, 
or  even  Lohenstein  and  Hoffmannswaldau,  all  of  whom  had 
already  lived  and  written  in  his  day  ;  had  the  Pere  Bouhours 


34  STATE   OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

taken  this  trouble, — who  knows  but  he  might  have  found, 
with  whatever  •amazement,  that  a  German  could  actually  have 
a  little  esprit,  or  perhaps  even  something  better  ?  No  such 
trouble  was  requisite  for  the  Pere  Bouhours.  Motion  in  vacuo 
is  well  known  to  be  speedier  and  surer  than  through  a  resist- 
ing medium,  especially  to  imponderous  bodies  ;  and  so  the 
light  Jesuit,  unimpeded  by  facts  or  principles  of  any  kind, 
failed  not  to  reach  his  conclusion  ;  and,  in  a  comfortable 
frame  of  mind,  to  decide,  negatively,  that  a  German  could 
not  have  any  literary  talent. 

Thus  did  the  Pere  Bouhours  evince  that  he  had  a  pleasant 
Avit ;  but  in  the  end  he  has  paid  dear  for  it.  The  French, 
themselves,  have  long  since  begun  to  know  something  of  the 
Germans,  and  something  also  of  their  own  critical  Daniel ; 
and  now  it  is  by  this  one  n^timely  joke  that  the  hapless  Jes- 
uit is  doomed  to  live  ;  for  the  blessing  of  full  oblivion  is  de- 
nied him,  and  so  he  hangs,  suspended  in  his  own  noose,  over 
the  dusky  pool,  which  he  struggles  toward,  but  for  a  great 
while  will  not  reach.  Might  his  fate  but  serve  as  a  warn- 
ing to  kindred  men  of  wit,  in  regard  to  this  and  so  many  other 
subjects  !  For  surely  the  pleasure  of  despising,  at  all  times 
and  in  itself  a  dangerous  luxury,  is  much  safer  after  the  toil 
of  examining  than  before  it. 

We  altogether  differ  from  the  Pere  Bouhours  in  this  mat- 
ter, and  must  endeavour  to  discuss  it  differently.  There  is, 
in  fact,  much,  in  the  present  aspect  of  German  Literature, 
not  only  deserving  notice  but  deep  consideration  from  all 
thinking  men,  and  far  too  complex  for  being  handled  in  the 
way  of  epigram.  It  is  always  advantageous  to  think  justly 
of  our  neighbours  ;  nay,  in  mere  common  honesty,  it  is  a 
duty  ;  and,  like  every  other  duty,  brings  its  own  reward. 
Perhaps  at  the  present  era  this  duty  is  more  essential  than 
ever ;  an  era  of  such  promise  and  such  threatening,  when  so 
many  elements  of  good  and  evil  are  everywhere  in  conflict, 
and  human  society  is,  as  it  were,  struggling  to  body  itself 
forth  anew,  and  so  many  coloured  rays  are  springing  up  in 
this  quarter  and  in  that,  which  only  by  their  union  can  pro- 
duce pure  light.     Happily,  too,  though  still  a  difficult,  it  is  no 


STATE  OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE.  25 

longer  an  impossible  duty  ;  for  the  commerce  in  material 
things  has  paved  roads  for  commerce  in  things  spiritual,  and 
a  true  thought,  or  a  noble  creation,  passes  lightly  to  us  from 
the  remotest  countries,  provided  only  our  minds  be  open  to 
receive  it.  This,  indeed,  is  a  rigorous  proviso,  and  a  great 
obstacle  lies  in  it ;  one  which  to  many  must  be  insurmount- 
able, yet  which  it  is  the  chief  glory  of  social  culture  to  sur- 
mount. For,  if  a  man  who  mistakes  his  own  contracted 
individuality  for  the  type  of  human  nature,  and  deals  with 
whatever  contradicts  him  as  if  it  contradicted  this,  is  but  a 
pedant,  and  without  true  wisdom,  be  he  furnished  with  partial 
equipments  as  he  may, — what  better  shall  we  think  of  a 
nation  that,  in  like  manner,  isolates  itself  from  foreign  influ- 
ence, regards  its  own  modes  as  so  many  laws  of  nature,  and 
rejects  all  that  is  different  as  unworthy  even  of  examination  ? 
Of  this  narrow  and  perverted  condition,  the  French,  down 
almost  to  our  own  times,  have  afforded  a  remarkable  and  in- 
structive example  ;  as  indeed  of  late  thej  have  been  often 
enough  upbraidingly  reminded,  and  are  now  themselves,  in  a 
manlier  spirit,  beginning  to  admit.  That  our  countrymen 
have  at  any  time  erred  much  in  this  point,  cannot  we  think, 
truly  be  alleged  against  them.  Neither  shall  we  say,  with 
some  passionate  admirers  of  Germany,  that  to  the  Germans 
in  particular  they  have  been  unjust.  It  is  true,  the  litera- 
ture and  character  of  that  country,  which,  within  the  last 
half  century,  have  been  more  worthy  perhaps  than  any  other 
of  our  study  and  regard,  are  still  very  generally  unknown  to 
us,  or,  what  is  worse,  misknown  ;  but  for  this  there  are  not 
wanting  less  offensive  reasons.  That  the  false  and  tawdry 
ware,  which  was  in  all  hands,  should  reach  us  before  the 
chaste  and  truly  excellent,  which  it  required  some  excellence 
to  recognise  ;  that  Kotzebue's  insanity  should  have  spread 
faster,  by  some  fifty  years,  than  Lessing's  wisdom  ;  that 
Kant's  Philosophy  should  stand  in  the  background  as  a 
dreary  and  abortive  dream,  and  Gall's  Craniology  be  held 
out  to  us  from  every  booth  as  a  reality  ; — all  this  lay  in  the 
nature  of  the  case.  That  many  readers  should  draw  conclu- 
sions from  imperfect  premises,  and  by  the  imports  judge  too 


3G  STATE  OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

hastily  of  the  stock  imported  from,  was  likewise  natural.  No 
unfair  bias,  no  unwise  indisposition,  that  we  are  aware  of,  has 
ever  been  at  work  in  the  matter  ;  perhaps,  at  worst,  a  degree 
of  indolence,  a  blamable  incuriosity  to  all  products  of  foreign 
genius  :  for  what  more  do  we  know  of  recent  Spanish  or  Ital- 
ian literature,  than  of  German  ;  of  Grossi  and  Manzoni,  of 
C  impomanes  or  Jovellanos,  than  of  Tieck  and  Piichter? 
Wherever  German  art,  in  those  forms  of  it  which  need  no 
interpreter,  has  addressed  us  immediately,  our  recognition  of 
it  has  been  prompt  and  hearty  ;  from  Dlirer  to  Mengs,  from 
Handel  to  Weber  and  Beethoven,  we  have  welcomed  the 
painters  and  musicians  of  Germany,  not  only  to  our  praise, 
but  to  our  affections  and  beneficence.  Nor,  if  in  their  liter- 
ature we  have  been  more  backward,  is  the  literature  itself 
without  blame.  Two  centuries  ago,  translations  from  the 
German  were  comparatively  frequent  in  England :  Luther's 
Table-Talk  is  still  a  venerable  classic  in  our  language  ;  nay, 
Jacob  Bohme  has  found  a  place  among  us,  and  this  not  as  a 
dead  letter,  but  as  a  living  apostle  to  a  still  living  sect  of  our 
religionists.  In  the  next  century,  indeed,  translation  ceased  ; 
but  then  it  was,  in  a  great  measure,  because  there  was  little 
worth  translating.  The  horrors  of  the  Thirty-Years  War, 
followed  by  the  conquests  and  conflagrations  of  Louis  the 
Fourteenth,  had  desolated  the  country  ;  French  influence, 
extending  from  the  courts  of  princes  to  the  closets  of  the 
learned,  lay  like  a  baleful  incubus  over  the  far  nobler  mind 
of  Germany  ;  and  all  true  nationality  vanished  from  its  liter- 
ature, or  was  heard  only  in  faint  tones,  which  lived  in  the 
hearts  of  the  people,  but  could  not  reach  with  any  effect  to 
the  ears  of  foreigners.1      And  now  that  the   genius   of  the 

1  Not  that  the  Germans  were  idle ;  or  altogether  engaged,  as  we  too 
loosely  suppose,  in  the  work  of  commentary  and  lexicography.  On  the 
contrary,  they  rhymed  and  romanced  with  due  vigour  as  to  quantity  ; 
only  the  quality  was  bad.  Two  facts  on  this  head  may  deserve  mention  : 
In  the  year  1749,  there  were  found  in  the  library  of  one  virtuoso  no 
iewer  than  300  volumes  of  devotional  poetry,  containing,  says  Horn,  '  a 
treasure  of  33,712  German  hymns  ;  '  and,  much  about  the  same  period, 
one  of  Gottsched's  scholars  had  amassed  as  many  as  1500  German 
novels,  all  of  the  seventeenth  century.     The  hymns  we  understand  to 


STATE  OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE.  37 

country  has  awakened  in  its  old  strength,  our  attention  to  it 
has  certainly  awakened  also  ;  and  if  we  yet  know  little  or 
nothing  of  the  Germans,  it  is  not  because  we  wilfully  do 
them  wrong,  but,  in  good  part,  because  they  are  somewhat 
difficult  to  know. 

In  fact,  prepossessions  of  all  sorts  naturally  enough  find 
their  place  here.  A  country  which  has  no  national  literature, 
or  a  literature  too  insignificant  to  force  its  way  abroad,  must 
always  be,  to  its  neighbours,  at  least  in  every  important 
spiritual  respect,  an  unknown  and  misestimated  country.  Its 
towns  may  figure    on  our  maps  ;    its  revenues,   population, 

be  much  better  than  the  novels,  or  rather,  perhaps,  the  novels  to  be 
much  worse  than  the  hymns.  Neither  was  critical  study  neglected,  nor 
indeed  honest  endeavour  on  all  hands  to  attain  improvement:  witness 
the  strange  books  from  time  to  time  put  forth,  and  the  still  stranger 
institutions  established  for  this  purpose.  Among  the  former  we  have 
the  'Poetical  runnel'  (Poetfeche  Trichter),  manufactured  at  Niirnberg 
in  1650,  and  processing,  within  six  hours,  to  pour-in  the  whole  essence 
of  this  difficult  art  into  the  most  unfurnished  head.  Niirnberg  also  was 
the  chief  seat  of  the  famous  Meistersanger  and  their  Sdngerz&nffe,  or 
Singer-guilds,  in  which  poetry  was  taught  and  practised  like  any  other 
handicraft,  and  this  by  sober  and  well-meaning  men,  chiefly  artisans, 
who  could  not  understand  why  labour,  which  manufactured  so  many 
things,  should  not  also  manufacture  another.  Of  these  tuneful  guild- 
brethren,  Hans  Sachs,  by  trade  a  shoemaker,  is  greatly  the  most  noted 
and  most  notable.  His  father  was  a  tailor  ;  he  himself  learned  the 
mystery  of  song  under  one  Nunnebeck,  a  weaver.  He  was  an  adher- 
ent of  his  great  contemporary  Luther,  who  has  even  deigned  to  acknowl- 
edge his  services  in  the  cause  of  the  Reformation.  How  diligent  a 
labourer  Sachs  must  have  been,  will  appear  from  the  fact,  that,  in  his 
74th  year  (1568),  on  examining  his  stock  for  publication,  he  found  that 
he  had  written  6048  poetical  pieces,  among  which  were  208  tragedies 
and  comedies  ;  and  this  besides  having  all  along  kept  house,  like  an 
honest  Niirnberg  burgher,  by  assiduous  and  sufficient  shoe-making  ! 
Hans  is  not  without  genius,  and  a  shrewd  irony  ;  and,  above  all,  the 
most  gay,  childlike,  yet  devout  and  solid  character.  A  man  neither  to 
be  despised  nor  patronised  ;  but  left  standing  on  his  own  basis,  as  a 
singular  product,  and  a  still  legible  symbol  and  clear  mirror  ol  the 
time  and  country  where  he  lived.  His  best  piece  known  to  us,  and 
many  are  well  worth  perusing,  is  the  Fastnachtsspid  (Shrovetide  Farce) 
of  the  Narremchneiden  where  the  Doctor  cures  a  bloated  and  lethargiG 
patient  by  cutting-out  half-a-dozen  Fools  from  his  interior  ! 


38  STATE  OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

manufactures,  political  connections,  may  be  recorded  in  statis- 
tical books :  but  the  character  of  the  people  has  no  symbol 
and  no  voice  ;  we  cannot  know  them  by  speech  and  discourse, 
but  only  by  mere  sight  and  outward  observation  of  their 
manners  and  procedure.  Now,  if  both  sight  and  speech,  if 
both  travellers  and  native  literature,  are  found  but  ineffectual 
in  this  respect,  how  incalculably  more  so  the  former  alone  ! 
To  seize  a  character,  even  that  of  one  man,  in  its  life  and 
secret  mechanism,  requires  a  philosopher  ;  to  delineate  it 
with  truth  and  impressiveness,  is  work  for  a  poet.  How  shall 
one  or  two  sleek  clerical  tutors,  with  here  and  there  a  tedium- 
stricken  'squire,  or  speculative  half-pay  captain,  give  us  views 
on  such  a  subject.  How  shall  a  man,  to  whom  all  characters 
of  individual  men  are  like  sealed  books,  of  which  he  sees  only 
the  title  and  the  covers,  decipher,  from  his  four-wheeled 
vehicle,  and  depict  to  us,  the  character  of  a  nation  ?  He 
courageously  depicts  his  own  optical  delusions  ;  notes  this  to 
be  incomprehensible,  that  other  to  be  insignificant  ;  much  to 
be  good,  much  to  be  bad,  and  most  of  all  indifferent  ;  and 
so,  with  a  few  flowing  strokes,  completes  a  picture  which, 
though  it  may  not  even  resemble  any  possible  object,  his 
countrymen  are  to  take  for  a  national  portrait.  Nor  is  the 
fraud  so  readily  detected  :  for  the  character  of  a  people  has 
such  complexity  of  aspect,  that  even  the  honest  observer 
knows  nor  always,  not  perhaps  after  long  inspection,  what  to 
determine  regarding  it.  From  his,  only  accidental,  point  of 
view,  the  figure  stands  before  him  like  the  tracings  on  veined 
marble,— a  mass  of  mere  random  lines,  and  tints,  and  en- 
tangled strokes,  out  of  which  a  lively  fancy  may  shape  almost 
any  image.  But  the  image  he  brings  along  with  him  is 
always  the  readiest  ;  this  is  tried,  it  answers  as  well  as 
another  ;  and  a  second  voucher  now  testifies  its  correctness. 
Thus  each,  in  confident  tones,  though  it  may  be  with  a 
secret  misgiving,  repeats  his  precursor  ;  the  hundred  times 
repeated  comes  in  the  end  to  be  believed  ;  the  foreign  nation 
is  now  once  for  all  understood,  decided  on,  and  registered  ac- 
cordingly ;  and  dunce  the  thousandth  writes  of  it  like  dunce 
the  first. 


STATE  OF   GERMAN  LITERATURE.  39 

With  the  aid  of  literary  and  intellectual  intercourse,  much 
of  this  falsehood  may,  no  doubt,  be  corrected  :  yet  even  here, 
sound  judgment  is  far  from  easy  ;  and  most  national  charac- 
ters are  still,  as  Hume  long  ago  complained,  the  product 
rather  of  popular  prejudice  than  of  philosophic  insight. 
That  the  Germans,  in  particular,  have  by  no  means  escaped 
such  misrepresentation,  nay  perhaps  have  had  more  than  the 
common  share  of  it,  cannot,  in  their  circumstances,  surprise 
us.  From  the  time  of  Opitz  and  Flemmirig,  to  those  of 
Klopstock  and  Lessing, — that  is,  from  the  early  part  of  the 
seventeenth  to  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century, — they 
had  scarcely  any  literature  known  abroad,  or  deserving  to  be 
known  :  their  political  condition,  during  this  same  period, 
was  oppressive  and  everyway  unfortunate  externally  ;  and 
at  home,  the  nation,  spilt  into  so  many  fractions  and  petty 
states,  had  lost  all  feeling  of  itself  as  of  a  nation  ;  and  its 
energies  in  arts  as  in  arms  were  manifested  only  in  detail,  too 
often  in  collision,  and  always  under  foreign  influence.  The 
French,  at  once  their  plunderers  and  their  scoffers,  described 
them  to  the  rest  of  Europe  as  a  semi-barbarous  people  ;  which 
comfortable  fact  the  rest  of  Europe  was  willing  enough  to 
take  on  their  word.  During  the  greater  part  of  the  last 
century,  the  Germans,  in  our  intellectual  survey  of  the  world, 
were  quietly  omitted  ;  a  vague  contemptuous  ignorance  pre- 
vailed respecting  them  ;  it  was  a  Cimmerian  land,  where,  if  a 
few  sparks  did  glimmer,  it  was  but  so  as  to  testify  their  own 
existence,  too  feebly  to  enlighten  us.1     The  Germans  passed 

1  So  iate  as  the  year  1811,  we  find,  from  Pinkertorts  Geography,  the 
sole  representative  of  German  literature  to  be  Gottshed  (with  his  name 
wrong  spelt),  '  who  first  introduced  a  more  refined  style.' — Gottsched 
has  been  dead  the  greater  part  of  a  century  ;  and  for  the  last  fifty  years, 
ranks  among  the  Germans  somewhat  as  Prynne  or  Alexander  Ross  does 
among  ourselves.  A  man  of  a  cold,  rigid,  perseverant  character,  who 
mistook  himself  for  a  poet  and  the  perfection  of  critics,  and  had  skill 
to  pass  current  during  the  greater  part  of  his  literary  life  for  such.  On 
the  strength  of  his  Boileau  and  Batteux,  he  long  reigned  supreme  ;  but 
it  was  like  Night,  in  ray  less  majesty,  and  over  a  slumbering  people. 
They  awoke,  before  his  death,  and  hurled  him,  perhaps  too  indig- 
nantly, into  his  native  Abyss. 


40  STATE  OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

for  apprentices  in  all  provinces  of  art ;  and  many  foreign 
craftsmen  scarcely  allowed  them  so  much. 

Madame  de  Stael's  book  has  done  away  with  this :  all  Eu- 
rope is  now  aware  that  the  Germans  are  something  ;  some- 
thing independent  and  apart  from  others  ;  nay,  something- 
deep,  imposing  and,  if  not  admirable,  wonderful.  What  that 
something  is,  indeed,  is  still  undecided  ;  for  this  gifted  lady's 
Allemagne,  in  doing  much  to  excite  curiosity,  has  still  done 
little  to  satisfy  or  even  direct  it.  We  can  no  longer  make 
ignorance  a  boast,  but  we  are  yet  far  from  having  acquired 
right  knowledge  ;  and  cavillers,  excluded  from  contemptuous 
negation,  have  found  a  resource  in  almost  as  contemptuous 
assertion.  Translators  are  the  same  faithless  and  stolid  race 
that  they  have  ever  been  :  the  particle  of  gold  they  bring  us 
over  is  hidden  from  all  but  the  most  patient  eye,  among  ship- 
loads of  yellow  sand  and  sulphur.  Gentle  D illness  too,  in 
this  as  in  all  other  things,  still  loves  her  joke.  The  Ger- 
mans, though  much  more  attended  to,  are  perhaps  not  less 
mistaken  than  before. 

Doubtless,  however,  there  is  in  this  increased  attention  a 
progress  towards  the  truth  ;  which  it  is  only  investigation  and 
discussion  that  can  help  us  to  find.  The  study  of  German 
literature  has  already  taken  such  firm  root  among  us,  and  is 
spreading  so  visibly,  that  by  and  by,  as  we  believe,  the  true 
character  of  it  must  and  will  become  known.  A  result,  which 
is  to  bring  us  into  closer  and  'friendlier  union  with  forty 
millions  of  civilised  men,  cannot  surely  be  other  than  desir- 
able. If  they  have  precious  truth  to  impart,  we  shall  receive 
it  as  the  highest  of  all  gifts  ;  if  error,  we  shall  not  only  reject 
it,  but  explain  it  and  trace  out  its  origin,  and  so  help  our 
brethren  also  to  reject  it.  In  either  point  of  view,  and  for  all 
profitable  purposes  of  national  intercourse,  correct  knowledge 
is  the  first  and  indispensable  preliminary. 

Meanwhile,  errors  of  all  sorts  prevail  on  this  subject :  even 
among  men  of  sense  and  liberality  we  have  found  so  much 
hallucination,  so  many  groundless  or  half-grounded  objec- 
tions to  German  literature,  that  the  tone  in  which  a  multi- 
tude of  other  men  speak  of   it  cannot  appear  extraordinary. 


STATE  OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE.  41 

To  much  of  this,  even  a  slight  knowledge  of  the  Germans 
would  furnish  a  sufficient  answer.  We  have  thought  it 
might  be  useful  were  the  chief  of  these  objections  marshalled 
in  distinct  order,  and  examined  with  what  degree  of  light  and 
fairness  is  at  our  disposal.  In  attempting  this,  we  are  vain 
enough,  for  reasons,  already  stated,  to  fancy  ourselves  dis- 
charging what  is  in  some  sort  a  national  duty.  It  is  unworthy 
of  one  great  people  to  think  falsely  of  another  ;  it  is  unjust, 
and  therefore  unworthy.  Of  the  injury  it  does  to  ourselves 
we  do  not  speak,  for  that  is  an  inferior  consideration  :  yet 
surely  if  the  grand  principle  of  free  intercourse  is  so  profit- 
able in  material  commerce,  much  more  must  it  be  in  the 
commerce  of  the  mind,  the  products  of  which  are  thereby  not 
so  much  transported  out  of  one  country  into  another,  as 
multiplied  over  all,  for  the  benefit  of  all,  and  without  loss  to 
any.  If  that  man  is  a  benefactor  to  the  world  who  causes 
two  ears  of  corn  to  grow  where  only  one  grew  before,  much 
more  is  he  a  benefactor  who  causes  two  truths  to  grow  up 
together  in  harmony  and  mutual  confirmation,  where  before 
only  one  stood  solitary,  and,  on  that  side  at  least,  intolerant 
and  hostile. 

In  dealing  with  the  host  of  objections  which  front  us  on 
this  subject,  we  think  it  may  be  convenient  to  range  them 
under  two  principal  heads.  The  first,  as  respects  chiefly 
unsoundness  or  imperfection  of  sentiment ;  an  error  which 
may  in  general  be  denominated  Bad  Taste.  The  second,  as 
respects  chiefly  a  wrong  condition  of  intellect ;  an  error 
which  may  be  designated  by  the  general  title  of  Mysticism. 
Both  of  these,  no  doubt,  are  partly  connected ;  and  each,  in 
some  degree,  springs  from  and  returns  into  the  other :  xtt, 
for  present  purposes,  the  divisions  may  be  precise  enough. 

First,  then,  of  the  first :  It  is  objected  that  the  Germans 
have  a  radically  bad  taste.  This  is  a  deep-rooted  objection, 
which  assumes  many  forms,  and  extends  through  many  ram 
ifications.  Among  men  of  less  acquaintance  with  the  subject 
of  German  taste,  or  of  taste  in  general,  the  spirit  of  the  ac- 
cusation seems  to  be  somewhat  as  follows  :  That  the  Ger- 
mans, with   much  natural  susceptibility,  are  still  in  a  rather 


42  STATE  OF   GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

coarse  and  uncultivated  state  of  mind  ;  displaying,  with  the 
energy  and  other  virtues  of  a  rude  people,  many  of  their 
vices  also  ;  in  particular,  a  certain  wild  and  headlong  temper, 
which  seizes  on  all  things  too  hastily  and  impetuously  ;  weeps, 
storms,  loves,  hates,  too  fiercely  and  vociferously  ;  delighting 
in  coarse  excitements,  such  as  flaring  contrasts,  vulgar  hor- 
rors, and  all  sorts  of  showy  exaggeration.  Their  literature, 
in  particular,  is  thought  to  dwell  with  peculiar  complacency 
among  wizards  and  ruined  towers,  with  mailed  knights, 
secret  tribunals,  monks,  spectres,  and  banditti :  on  the  other 
hand,  there  is  an  undue  love  of  moonlight,  and  mossy  foun- 
tains, and  the  moral  sublime  :  then  we  have  descriptions  of 
things  which  should  not  be  described  ;  a  general  want  of 
tact ;  nay,  often  a  hollowness,  and  want  of  sense.  In  short 
the  German  Muse  comports  herself,  it  is  said,  like  a  passionate 
and  rather  fascinating,  but  tumultuous,  uninstructed  and  but 
half  civilised  Muse.  A  belle  sauvage  at  best,  we  can  only  love 
her  with  a  sort  of  supercilious  tolerance  ;  often  she  tears  a 
passion  to  rags  ;  and,  in  her  humid  vehemence,  struts  without 
meaning,  and  to  the  offence  of  all  literary  decorum. 

Now,  in  all  this  there  is  not  wanting  a  certain  degree  of 
truth.  If  any  man  will  insist  on  taking  Heinse's  Ardinghello , 
and  Millers  Siegwart,  and  the  works  of  Veit  Weber  the 
Younger,  and,  above  all,  the  everlasting  Kotzebue,  as  his 
specimens  of  German  literature,  he  may  establish  many 
things.  Black  Forests,  and  the  glories  of  Lubberland  ;  sensu- 
ality and  horror,  the  spectre  nun,  and  the  charmed  moon- 
shine, shall  not  be  wanting.  Boisterous  outlaws  also,  with 
huge  whiskers  and  the  most  cat-o'-mountain  aspect ;  tear- 
stained  sentimentalists,  the  grimmest  manhaters,  ghosts  and 
'the  like  suspicious  characters,  will  be  found  in  abundance. 
We  are  little  read  in  this  bowl-and-dagger  department ;  but 
we  do  understand  it  to  have  been  at  one  time  rather  dili- 
gently cultivated  ;  though  at  present  it  seems  to  be  mostly 
relinquished  as  unproductive.  Other  forms  of  Unreason  have 
taken  its  place  ;  which  in  their  turn  must  yield  to  still  other 
forms  ;  for  it  is  the  nature  of  this  goddess  to  descend  in  fre- 
quent avatars  among  men.     Perhaps  not  less  than  five  hun- 


STATE   OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE.  43 

clred  volumes  of  such  stuff  could  still  be  collected  from  the 
bookstalls  of  Germany.  By  which  truly  we  may  learn  that 
there  is  in  that  country  a  class  of  unwise  men  and  unwise 
women  ;  that  many  readers  there  labour  under  a  degree  of 
ignorance  and  mental  vacancy,  and  read  not  actively  but  pas- 
sively, not  to  learn  but  to  be  amused.  Is  this  fact  so  very 
new  to  us  ?  Or  what  should  we  think  of  a  German  critic 
that  selected  his  specimens  of  British  literature  from  the 
Castle  Spectre,  Mr.  Lewis's  Monk  or  the  Mysteries  of  Udolpho, 
and  Frankenstein  or  the  Modern  Prometheus  ?  Or  would  he 
judge  rightly  of  our  dramatic  taste,  if  he  took  his  extracts 
from  Mr.  Egan's  Tom  and  Jerry  ;  and  told  his  readers,  as  he 
might  truly  do,  that  no  play  had  ever  enjoyed  such  cur- 
rency on  the  English  stage  as  this  most  classic  performance  ? 
We  think,  not.  In  like  manner,  till  some  author  of  acknowl- 
edged merit  shall  so  write  among  the  Germans,  and  be  ap- 
proved of  by  critics  of  acknowleged  merit  among  them,  or  at 
least  secure  for  himself  some  permanency  of  favour  among 
the  million,  we  can  prove  nothing  by  such  instances.  That 
there  is  so  perverse  an  author,  or  so  blind  a  critic,  in  the 
whole  compass  of  German  literature,  we  have  no  hesitation  in 
denying. 

But  farther  :  among  men  of  deeper  views,  and  with  regard 
to  works  of  really  standard  character,  we  find,  though  not 
the  same,  a  similar  objection  repeated.  Goethe's  Wilhelm 
Meister,  it  is  said,  and  Faust,  are  full  of  bad  taste  also.  With 
respect  to  the  taste  in  which  they  are  written,  we  shall  have 
occasion  to  say  somewhat  hereafter  :  meanwhile,  we  may  be 
permitted  to  remark  that  the  objection  would  have  more 
force,  did  it  seem  to  originate  from  a  more  mature  considera- 
tion of  the  subject.  We  have  heard  few  English  criticisms  of 
such  works,  in  which  the  first  condition  of  an  approach  to 
accuracy  was  complied  with  ; — a  transposition  of  the  critic 
into  the  author's  point  of  vision,  a  survey  of  the  author's 
means  and  objects  as  they  lay  before  himself,  and  a  just  trial 
of  these  by  rules  of  universal  application.  Faust,  for  instance, 
passes  with  many  of  us  for  a  mere  tale  of  sorcery  and  art-magic. 
It  would  scarcelv  be  more  unwise  to  consider  Hamlet  as  de- 


44  STATE  OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

pending  for  its  main  interest  on  the  ghost  that  walks  in  it, 
than  to  regard  Faust  as  a  production  of  that  sort.  For  the 
present,  therefore,  this  objection  may  be  set  aside  ;  or  at  least 
may  be  considered  not  as  an  assertion,  but  an  inquiry,  the 
answer  to  which  may  turn  out  rather  that  the  German  taste 
is  different  from  ours,  than  that  it  is  worse.  Nay,  with  re- 
gard even  to  difference,  we  should  scarcely  reckon  it  to  be  of 
great  moment.  Two  nations  that  agree  in  estimating  Shak- 
speare  as  the  highest  of  all  poets,  can  differ  in  no  essential 
principle,  if  they  understood  one  another,  that  relates  to 
poetry. 

Nevertheless,  this  opinion  of  our  opponents  has  attained  a 
certain  degree  of  consistency  with  itself  ;  one  thing  is  thought 
to  throw  light  on  another ;  nay,  a  quiet  little  theory  has  been 
propounded  to  explain  the  whole  phenomenon.  The  cause 
of  this  bad  taste,  we  are  assured,  lies  in  the  condition  of  the 
German  authors.  These,  it  seems,  are  generally  very  poor  ; 
the  ceremonial  law  of  the  country  excludes  them  from  all 
society  with  the  great  ;  they  cannot  acquire  the  polish  of 
drawing-rooms,  but  must  live  in  mean  houses,  and  therefore 
write  and  think  in  a  mean  style. 

Apart  from  the  truth  of  these  assumptions,  and  in  respect 
of  the  theory  itself,  we  confess  there  is  something  in  the  face 
of  it  that  afflicts  us.  Is  it  then  so  certain  that  taste  and  riches 
are  indissolubly  connected  ?  That  truth  of  feeling  must  ever 
be  preceded  by  weight  of  purse,  and  the  eyes  be  dim  for 
universal  and  eternal  Beauty,  till  they  have  long  rested  on 
gilt  walls  and  costly  furniture  ?  To  the  great  body  of  man- 
kind this  were  heavy  news ;  for,  of  the  thousand,  scarcely 
one  is  rich,  or  connected  with  the  rich  ;  nine  hundred  and 
ninety-nine  have  always  been  poor,  and  must  always  be  so. 
We  take  the  liberty  of  questioning  the  whole  postulate.  We ' 
think  that,  for  acquiring  true  poetic  taste,  riches,  or  associa- 
tion with  the  rich,  are  distinctly  among  the  minor  requisites  ; 
that,  in  fact,  they  have  little  or  no  concern  with  the  matter. 
This  we  shall  now  endeavour  to  make  probable. 

Taste,   if  it  mean  anything  but  a  paltry  connoisseurshrp, 
must  mean  a  general  susceptibility  to  truth  and  nobleness ; 


STATE  OF   GERMAN  LITERATURE.  45 

a  sense  to  discern,  and  a  heart  to  love  and  reverence,  all 
beauty,  order,  goodness,  wheresoever  or  in  whatsoever  forms 
and  accompaniments  they  are  to  been  seen.  This  surely  im- 
plies, as  its  chief  condition,  not  any  given  external  rank  or 
situation,  but  a  finely  gifted  mind,  purified  into  harmony 
with  itself,  into  keenness  and  justness  of  vision  ;  above  all, 
kindled  into  love  and  generous  admiration.  Is  culture  of 
this  sort  found  exclusively  among  the  higher  ranks  ?  We  be- 
lieve it  proceeds  less  from  without  than  within,  in  every  rank. 
The  charms  of  Nature,  the  majesty  of  Man,  the  infinite  loveli- 
ness of  Truth  and  Virtue,  are  not  hidden  from  the  eye  of  the 
poor  ;  but  from  the  eye  of  the  vain,  the  corrupted  and  self- 
seeking,  be  he  poor  or  rich.  In  old  ages,  the  humble  Minstrel, 
a  mendicant,  and  lord  of  nothing  but  hi  i  harp  and  his 
own  free  soul,  had  intimations  of  those  glories,  wdiile  to  the 
proud  Baron  in  his  barbaric  halls  they  were  unknown.  Nor 
is  there  still  any  aristocratic  monopoly  of  judgment  more 
than  of  genius  :  for  as  to  that  Science  of  Negation  which  is 
taught  peculiarly  by  men  of  professed  elegance,  we  confess 
we  hold  it  rather  cheap.  It  is  a  necessary,  but  decidedly  a 
subordinate  accomplishment,  nay,  if  it  be  rated  as  the  high- 
est, it  becomes  a  ruinous  vice.  This  is  an  old  truth  ;  yet  ever 
needing  new  application  and  enforcement.  Let  us  know 
what  to  love,  and  we  shall  know  also  what  to  reject ;  what  to 
affirm,  and  we  shall  know  also  what  to  deny  :  but  it  is  danger- 
ous to  begin  with  denial,  and  fatal  to  end  with  it.  To  deny  is 
easy  ;  nothing  is  sooner  learnt  or  more  generally  practised  : 
as  matters  go,  we  need  no  man  of  polish  to  teach  it ;  but 
rather,  if  possible,  a  hundred  men  of  wisdom  to  show  us  its 
limits,  and  teach  us  its  reverse. 

Such  is  our  hypothesis  of  the  case  :  how  stands  it  with  the 
facts  ?  Are  the  fineness  and  truth  of  sense  manifested  by  the 
artist  found,  in  most  instances,  to  be  proportionate  to  his 
wealth  and  elevation  of  acquaintance  ?  Are  they  found  to 
have  any  perceptible  relation  either  with  the  one  or  the  other? 
We  imagine,  not.  Whose  taste  in  painting,  for  instance,  is 
truer  and  finer  than  Claude  Lorraine's  ?  And  was  not  he  a 
poor   colour-grinder ;    outwardly,    the    meanest  of   menials  ? 


46  STATE   OF  G  EMM  AN  LITERATURE. 

Where,  again,  we  might  ask,  lay  Shakspeare's  rent-roll ;  and 
what  generous  peer  took  him  by  the  hand  and  unfolded  to 
him  the  '  open  secret '  of  the  Universe  ;  teaching  him  that  this 
was  beautiful,  and  that  not  so  ?  Was  he  not  a  peasant  by 
birth,  and  by  fortune  something  lower ;  and  was  it  not 
thought  much,  even  in  the  height  of  his  reputation,  that 
Southampton  allowed  him  equal  patronage  with  the  zanies, 
jugglers  and  bearwards  of  the  time  ?  Yet  compare  his  taste, 
even  as  it  respects  the  negative  side  of  things  ;  for,  in  regard 
to  the  positive  and  far  higher  side,  it  admits  no  comparison 
with  any  other  mortal's, — compare  it,  for  instance,  with  the 
taste  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  his  contemporaries,  men  of 
rank  and  education,  and  of  fine  genius  like  himself.  Tried 
even  by  the  nice,  fastidious  and  in  great  part  false  and  artifi- 
cial delicacy  of  modern  times,  how  stands  it  with  the  two  part- 
ies ;  with  the  gay  triumphant  men  of  fashion,  and  the  poor 
vagrant  linkboy?  Does  the  latter  sin  against,  we  shall  not 
say  taste,  but  etiquette,  as  the  former  do  ?  For  one  line,  for 
one  word,  which  some  Chesterfield  might  wish  blotted  from 
the  first,  are  there  not  in  the  others  whole  pages  and  scenes 
which,  with  palpitating  heart,  he  would  hurry  into  deepest 
night  ?  This  too,  observe,  respects  not  their  genius,  but  their 
culture  ;  not  their  appropriation  of  beauties,  but  their  rejec- 
tion of  deformities,  by  supposition  the  grand  and  peculiar 
result  of  high  breeding !  Surely,  in  such  instances,  even  that 
humble  supposition  is  ill  borne  out. 

The  truth  of  the  matter  seems  to  be,  that  with  the  culture 
of  a  genuine  poet,  thinker  or  other  artist,  the  influence  of 
rank  has  no  exclusive  or  even  special  concern.  For  men  of 
action,  for  senators,  public  speakers,  political  writers,  the 
case  may  be  different ;  but  of  such  we  speak  not  at  present. 
Neither  do  we  speak  of  imitators,  and  the  crowd  of  mediocre 
men,  to  whom  fashionable  life  sometimes  gives  an  external 
inoffensiveness,  often  compensated  by  a  frigid  malignity  of 
character.  We  speak  of  men  who,  from  amid  the  perplexed 
and  conflicting  elements  of  their  everyday  existence,  are  to 
form  themselves  in  harmony  and  wisdom,  and  show  forth  the 
same  wisdom  to  others  that  exists  alone'  with  them.     To  such 


STATE  OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE.  47 

a  man,  high  life,  as  it  is  called,  will  be  a  province  of  human 
life  but  nothing  more.  He  will  study  to  deal  with  it  as  he 
deals  with  all  forms  of  mortal  being  ;  to  do  it  justice,  and  to 
draw  instruction  from  it ;  but  his  light  will  come  from  a  loft- 
ier region,  or  he  wanders  forever  in  darkness  ;  dwindles  into 
a  man  of  vers  de  societe,  or  attains  at  best  to  be  a  Walpole  or 
a  Caylus.  Still  less  can  we  think  that  he  is  to  be  viewed  as  a 
hireling  ;  that  his  excellence  will  be  regulated  by  his  pay. 
'  Sufficiently  provided  for  from  within,  he  has  need  of  little 
from  without : '  food  and  raiment,  and  an  unviolated  home) 
will  be  given  him  in  the  rudest  land  ;  and  with  these,  while 
the  kind  earth  is  round  him,  and  the  everlasting  heaven  is 
over  him,  the  world  has  little  more  that  it  can  give.  Is  he 
poor  ?  So  also  were  Homer  and  Socrates ;  so  was  Samuel 
Johnson  ;  so  was  John  Milton.  Shall  we  reproach  him  with 
his  poverty,  and  infer  that,  because  he  is  poor,  he  must 
likewise  be  worthless  ?  God  forbid  that  the  time  should  ever 
come  when  he  too  shall  esteem  riches  the  synonym  of  good  ! 
The  spirit  of  Mammon  has  a  wide  empire  ;  but  it  cannot,  and 
must  not,  be  worshipped  in  the  Holy  of  Holies.  Nay,  does 
not  the  heart  of  every  genuine  disciple  of  literature,  however 
mean  his  sphere,  instinctively  deny  this  principle,  as  appli- 
cable either  to  himself  or  another?  Is  it  not  rather  true, 
as  D'Alembert  has  said,  that  for  every  man  of  letters,  who 
deserves  that  name,  the  motto  and  the  watchword  will  be 
Freedom,  Truth,  and  even  this  same  Poverty  ;  that  if  he  fear 
the  last,  the  two  first  can  never  be  made  sure  to  him  ? 

We  have  stated  these  things,  to  bring  the  question  some- 
what nearer  its  real  basis  ;  not  for  the  sake  of  the  Germans, 
who  nowise  need  the  admission  of  them.  The  German  au- 
thors are  not  poor  ;  neither  are  they  excluded  from  associa- 
tion with  the  wealthy  and  well-born.  On  the  contrary,  we 
scruple  not  to  say,  that,  in  both  these  respects,  they  are  con- 
siderably better  situated  than  our  own.  Their  booksellers,  it 
is  true,  cannot  pay  as  ours  do  ;  yet,  there  as  here,  a  man 
lives  by  his  writings  ;  and,  to  compare  Jordens  with  Johnson 
and  U Israeli,  somewhat  better  there  than  here.  No  case 
like  our  own  noble  Otways  has  met  us  iu  their  biographies  ; 


48  STATE  OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

Boyces  and  Chattertons  are  much  rarer  in  German  than  in 
English  history.  But  farther,  and  what  is  far  more  impor- 
tant :  From  the  number  of  universities,  libraries,  collections 
of  art,  museums,  and  other  literary  or  scientific  institutions 
of  a  public  or  private  nature,  we  question  whether  the  chance 
which  a  meritorious  man  of  letters  has  before  him,  of  obtain- 
ing some  permanent  appointment,  some  independent  civic 
existence,  is  not  a  hundred  to  one  in  favour  of  the  German, 
compared  with  the  Englishman.  This  is  a  weighty  item,  and 
indeed  the  weightiest  of  all ;  for  it  will  be  granted,  that,  for 
the  votary  of  literature,  the  relation  of  entire  dependence  on 
the  merchants  of  literature  is,  at  best,  and  however  liberal 
the  terms,  a  highly  questionable  one.  It  tempts  him  daily 
and  hourly  to  sink  from  an  artist  into  a  manufacturer ;  nay, 
so  precarious,  fluctuating  and  everyway  unsatisfactory  must 
his  civic  and  economic  concerns  become,  that  too  many  of  his 
class  cannot  even  attain  the  praise  of  common  honesty  as 
manufacturers.  There  'is,  no  doubt,  a  spirit  of  martyrdom, 
as  we  have  asserted,  which  can  sustain  this  too  :  but  few 
indeed  have  the  spirit  of  martyrs ;  and  that  state  of  matters 
is  the  safest  which  requires  it  least.  The  German  authors, 
moreover,  to  their  credit  be  it  spoken,  seem  to  set  less  store 
by  wealth  than  many  of  ours.  There  have  been  prudent, 
quiet  men  among  them, -who  actually  appeared  not  to  want 
more  wealth  ;  whom  wealth  could  not  tempt,  either  to  this 
hand  or  that,  from  their  preappointed  aims.  Neither  must 
we  think  so  hardly  of  the  German  nobility  as  to  believe  them 
insensible  to  genius,  or  of  opinion  that  a  patent  from  the  Lion 
King  is  so  superior  to  'a  patent  direct  from  Almighty  God.' 
A  fair  proportion  of  the  German  authors  are  themselves  men 
of  rank :  we  mention  only,  as  of  our  own  time,  and  notable 
in  other  respects,  the  two  Stolbergs  and  Novalis.  Let  us  not 
be  unjust  to  this  class  of  persons.  It  is  a  poor  error  to  figure 
them  as  wrapt  up  in  ceremonial  stateliuess,  avoiding  the  most 
gifted  man  of  a  lower  station  ;  and,  for  their  own  supercilious 
triviality,  themselves  avoided  by  all  truly  gifted  men.  On 
the  whole,  we  should  change  our  notion  of  the  German  noble- 
man :    that   ancient,   thirsty,    thickheaded,    sixteen-quartered 


STATE  OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE.  49 

Baron,  who  still  hovers  in  our  minds,  never  did  exist  in  such 
perfection,  and  is  now  as  extinct  as  our  own  Squire  Western. 
His  descendant  is  a  man  of  other  culture,  other  aims  and 
other  habits.  We  question  whether  there  is  an  aristocracy 
in  Europe,  which,  taken  as  a  whole,  both  in  a  public  and 
private  capacity,  more  honours  art  and  literature,  and  does 
more  both  in  public  and  private  to  encourage  them.  Ex- 
cluded from  society  !  What,  we  would  ask,  was  Wieland's, 
Schiller's,  Herder's,  Johannes  Mailer's  society  ?  Has  not 
Goethe,  b}r  birth  a  Frankfort  burgher,  been,  since  his  twenty- 
sixth  year,  the  companion,  not  of  nobles  but  of  princes,  and 
for  half  his  life  a  minister  of  state?  And  is  not  this  man, 
unrivalled  in  so  many  far  deeper  qualities,  known  also  and 
felt  to  be  unrivalled  in  nobleness  of  breeding  and  bearing ; 
fit  not  to  learn  of  princes  in  this  respect,  but  by  the  example 
of  his  daily  life  to  teach  them  ? 

We  hear  much  of  the  munificent  spirit  displayed  among 
the  better  classes  in  England  ;  their  high  estimation  of  the 
arts,  and  generous  patronage  of  the  artist.  We  rejoice  to 
hear  it ;  we  hope  it  is  true,  and  will  become  truer  and  truer. 
We  hope  that  a  great  change  has  taken  place  among  these 
classes,  since  the  time  when  Bishop  Burnet  could  write  of 
them,  '  They  are  for  the  most  part  the  ivorst  instructed,  and 
'  the  lead  knowing,  of  any  of  their  -rank  I  ever  went  among  ! ' 
Nevertheless,  let  us  arrogate  to  ourselves  no  exclusive  praise 
in  this  particular.  Other  nations  can  appreciate  the  arts,  and 
cherish  their  cultivators,  as  well  as  we.  Nay,  while  learning 
from  us  in  many  other  matters,  we  suspect  the  Germans  might 
even  teach  us  somewhat  in  regard  to  this.  %^t  all  events,  the 
pity,  which  certain  of  our  authors  express  for  the  civil  con- 
dition of  their  brethren  in  that  country  is,  from  such  a  quar- 
ter, a  superfluous  feeling.  Nowhere,  let  us  rest  assured,  is 
genius  more  devoutly  honoured  than  there,  by  all  ranks  of 
men,  from  peasants  and  burghers  up  to  legislators  and  kings. 
It  was  but  last  year  that  the  Diet  of  the  Empire  passed  an  Act 
in  favour  of  one  individual  poet :  the  Final  Edition  of  Goethe's 
Works  was  guaranteed  to  be  protected  against  commercial 
injury  in  every  State  of  Germany ;  and  special  assurances  to 
4 


50  STATE   OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

that  effect  were  sent  him,  in  the  kindest  terms,  from  all  the 
Authorities  there  assembled,  some  of  them  the  highest  in  his 
country  or  in  Europe.  Nay,  even  while  we  write,  are  not  the 
newspapers  recording  a  visit  from  the  Sovereign  of  Bavaria 
in  person  to  the  same  venerable  man  ? — a  mere  ceremony  per- 
haps, but  one  which  almost  recalls  to  us  the  era  of  the  antique 
Sages  and  the  Grecian  Kings. 

This  hypothesis,  therefore,  it  would  seem,  is  not  supported k 
by  facts,  and  so  returns  to  its  original  elements.  The  causes 
it  alleges  are  impossible  :  but,  what  is  still  more  fatal,  the 
effect  it  proposes  to  account  for  has,  in  reality,  no  existence. 
We  venture  to  deny  that  the  Germans  are  defective  in  taste  ; 
even  as  a  nation,  as  a  public,  taking  one  thing  with  another, 
we  imagine  they  may  stand  comparison  with  any  of  their 
neighbours  ;  as  writers,  as  critics,  they  may  decidedly  court  it. 
True,  there  is  a  mass  of  dullness,  awkwardness  and  false  suscep- 
tibility in  the  lower  regions  of  their  literature  :  but  is  not 
bad  taste  endemical  in  such  regions  of  every  literature  under 
the  sun  ?  Pure  Stupidity,  indeed,  is  of  a  quiet  nature,  and 
content  to  be  merely  stupid.  But  seldom  do  we  find  it  pure  ; 
seldom  unadulterated  with  some  tincture  of  ambition,  which 
drives  it  into  new  and  strange  metamorphoses.  Here  it  has 
assumed  a  contemptuous  trenchant  air,  intended  to  represent 
superior  tact,  and  a  sort  of  all-wisdom  ;  there  a  truculent 
atrabilious  scowl,  which  is  to  stand  for  passionate  strength  : 
now  we  have  an  outpouring  of  tumid  fervour ;  now  a  fruitless, 
asthmatic  hunting  after  wit  and  humour.  Grave  or  gay,  en- 
thusiastic or  derisive,  admiring  or  despising,  the  dull  man 
would  be  something  which  he  is  not  and  cannot  be.  Shall 
we  confess,  that,  of  these  two  common  extremes,  we  reckon 
the  German  error  considerably  the  more  harmless,  and,  in 
our  day,  by  far  the  more  curable?  Of  unwise  admiration 
much  may  be  hoped,  for  much  good  is  really  in  it,  but  unwise 
contempt  is  itself  a  negation  ;  nothing  comes  of  it,  for  it  is 
nothing. 

To  judge  of  a  national  taste,  however,  we  must  raise  0111 
view  from  its  transitory  modes  to  its  perennial  models  ;  from 
the  mass  of  vulgar  writers,  who  blaze  out  and  are  extinguished 


STATE  OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE.  51 

with  the  popular  delusion  which  they  flatter,  to  those  few  who 
are  admitted  to  shine  with  a  pure  and  lasting  lustre  ;  to 
whom,  by  common  consent,  the  eyes  of  the  people  are  turned, 
as  to  its  loadstars  and  celestial  luminaries.  Among  German 
writers  of  this  stamp,  we  would  ask  any  candid  reader  of  them, 
let  him  be  of  what  country  or  creed  he  might,  whether  bad 
taste  struck  him  as  a  prevailing  characteristic.  Was  Wie- 
land's  taste  uncultivated  ?  Taste,  we  should  say,  and  taste 
of  the  very  species  which  a  disciple  of  the  Negative  School 
would  call  the  highest,  formed  the  great  object  of  his  life  ; 
the  perfection  he  unweariedly  endeavoured  after,  and,  more 
than  any  other  perfection,  has  attained.  The  most  fastidious 
Frenchman  might  read  him,  with  admiration  of  his  merely 
French  qualities.  And  is  not  Klopstock,  with  his  clear  en- 
thusiasm, his  azure  purity-,  and  heavenly  if  still  somewhat 
cold  and  lunar  light,  a  man  of  taste  ?  His  Messiax  reminds  us 
oftener  of  no  other  poets  than  of  Virgil  and  Racine.  But  it 
is  to  Lessing  that  an  Englishman  would  turn  with  readiest 
affection.  We  cannot  but  wonder  that  more  of  this  man  is 
not  known  among  us  ;  or  that  the  knowledge  of  him  has  not 
done  more  to  remove  such  misconceptions.  Among  all  the 
writers  of  the  eighteenth  century,  we  will  not  except  even 
Diderot  and  David  Hume,  there  is  not  one  of  a  more  compact 
and  rigid  intellectual  structure  ;  who  more  distinctly  knows 
what  he  is  aiming  at,  or  with  more  gracefulness,  vigour  and 
precision  sets  it  forth  to  his  readers.  He  thinks  with  the 
clearness  and  piercing  sharpness  of  the  most  expert  logician  ; 
but  a  genial  fire  prevades  him,  a  wit,  a  heartiness,  a  general 
richness  and  fineness  of  nature,  to  which  most  logicians  are 
strangers.  He  is  a  sceptic  in  many  things,  but  the  noblest  of 
sceptics  ;  a  mild,  manly,  half-careless  enthusiasm  struggles 
through  his  indignant  unbelief :  he  stands  before  us  like  a 
toilworn  but  unwearied  and  heroic  champion,  earning  not  the 
conquest  but  the  battle  ;  as  indeed  himself  admits  to  us,  that 
'  it  is  not  the  finding  of  truth,  but  the  honest  search  for  it, 
that  profits.'  We  confess,  we  should  be  entirely  at  a  loss  for 
the  literary  creed  of  that  man  who  reckoned  Lessing  other 
than  a  thoroughly  cultivated  writer ;  nay,  entitled  to  rank,  in 


52  STATE  OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

this  particular,  with  the  most  distinguished  writers  of  any  ex- 
isting nation.  As  a  poet,  as  a  critic,  philosopher,  or  contro- 
versialist, his  style  will  be  found  precisely  such  as  we  of  Eng- 
land are  accustomed  to  admire  most ;  brief,  nervous,  vivid  ; 
yet  quiet,  without  glitter  or  antithesis  ;  idiomatic,  pure  with- 
out purism  ;  transparent,  yet  full  of  character  and  reflex  hues 
of  meaning.  'Every  sentence,'  says  Horn,  and  justly,  '  is  liko 
a  phalanx  ; '  not  a  word  wrong-placed,  not  a  word  that  could 
be  spared  ;  and  it  forms  itself  so  calmly  and  lightly,  and  stands 
in  its  completeness,  so  gay,  yet  so  impregnable  !  As  a  poet 
he  contemptuously  denied  himself  all  merit ;  but  his  readers 
have  not  taken  him  at  his  word  :  here  too  a  similiar  felicity  of 
style  attends  him  ;  his  plays,  his  Minna  von  Barnhelm,  his 
Emilie  Galotti,  his  Natlian  der  Weise,  have  a  genuine  and 
graceful  poetic  life  ;  yet  no  works  known  to  us  in  any  lan- 
guage are  purer  from  exaggeration,  or  any  appearance  of  false- 
hood. They  are  pictures,  we  might  say,  painted  not  in  col- 
ours, but  in  crayons ;  yet  a  strange  attraction  lies  in  them  ; 
for  the  figures  are  grouped  into  the  finest  attitudes,  and  true 
and  spirit-speaking  in  every  line.  It  is  with  his  style  chiefly 
that  we  have  to  do  here  ;  yet  we  must  add,  that  the  matter  of 
his  works  is  not  less  meritorious.  His  Criticism  and  philo- 
sophic or  religous  Scepticism  wrere  of  a  higher  mood  than  had 
yet  been  heard  in  Europe,  still  more  in  Germany  :  his  Drama- 
tiwgiefiYst  exploded  the  pretensions  of  the  French  theatre, 
and,  with  irresistable  conviction,  made  Shakspeare  known  to 
his  countrymen  ;  preparing  the  way  for  a  brighter  era  in  their 
literature,  the  chief  men  of  which  still  thankfully  look  back 
to  Lessing  as  their  patriarch.  His  Laocoon,  with  its  deep 
glances  into  the  philosophy  of  Art,  his  Dialogues  of  Free- 
masons, a  work  of  far  higher  import  than  its  title  indicates, 
may  yet  teach  many  things  to  most  of  us,  which  we  know  not, 
and  ought  to  know. 

With  Lessing  and  Klopstock  might  be  joined,  in  this  re- 
spect, nearly  every  one,  we  do  not  say  of  their  distinguished, 
but  even  of  their  tolerated  contemporaries.  The  two  Jacobis, 
known  more  or  less  in  all  countries,  are  little  known  here,  if 
they  are  accused  of  wanting  literary  taste.     These  are  men, 


STATE  OF   GERMAN  LITERATURE.  53 

whether  as  thinkers  or  poets,  to  be  regarded  and  admired  for 
their  mild  and  lofty  wisdom,  the  devoutness,  the  benignity 
and  calm  grandeur  of  their  philosophical  views.  In  such,  it 
were  strange  if  among  so  many  high  merits,  this  lower  one  of 
a  just  and  elegant  style,  which  is  indeed  their  natural  and 
even  necessary  product,  had  been  wanting.  We  recommend 
the  elder  Jacobi  no  less  for  his  clearness  than  for  his  depth  ; 
of  the  younger,  it  may  be  enough  in  this  point  of  view  to  say, 
that  the  chief  praisers  of  his  earlier  poetry  were  the  French. 
Neither  are  Hamann  and  Mendelsohn,  who  could  meditate 
deep  thoughts,  defective  in  the  power  of  uttering  them  with 
propriety.  The  Phcedon  of  the  latter,  in  its  chaste  precision 
and  simplicity  of  style,  may  almost  remind  us  of  Xenophon  : 
Socrates,  to  our  mind,  has  spoken  in  no  modern  language 
so  like  Socrates,  as  here,  by  the  lips  of  this  wise  and  cultivated 
Jew. ' 

Among  the  poets  and  more  popular  writers  of  the  time, 
the  case  is  the  same  :  Utz,  Gellert,  Cramer,  Ramler,  Kleist, 
Hagedorn,  Rabener,  Gleim,  and  a  multitude  of  lesser  men, 
whatever  excellences  they  might  want,  certainly  are  not 
chargeable  with  bad  taste.     Nay,  perhaps  of  all  writers  they 

1  The  history  of  Mendelsohn  is  interesting  in  itself,  and  full  of  en- 
couragement to  all  lovers  of  self-improvement.  At  thirteen  he  was  a 
wandering  Jewish  beggar,  without  health,  without  home,  almost  with- 
out a  language, — for  the  jargon  of  broken  Hebrew  and  provincial  Ger- 
man which  he  spoke  could  scarcely  be  called  one.  At  middle  age  he 
could  write  this  Phcedon ;  was  a  man  of  wealth  and  breeding,  and 
ranked  among  the  teachers  of  his  age.  Like  Pope,  he  abode  by  his 
original  creed,  though  often  solicited  to  change  it:  indeed,  the  grand 
problem  of  his  life  was  to  better  the  inward  and  outward  condition  of 
his  own  ill-fated  people  ;  for  whom  he  actually  accomplished  much 
benefit.  He  was  a  mild,  shrewd  and  worthy  man  ;  and  might  well  love 
PJueclon  and  Socrates,  for  his  own  character  was  Socratic.  He  was  a 
friend  of  Lessing's :  indeed,  a  pupil  ;  for  Lessing,  having  accidentally 
met  him  at  chess,  recognised  the  spirit  that  lay  struggling  under  such  in- 
cumbrances, and  generously  undertook  to  help  him.  By  teaching  the 
poor  Jew  a  little  Greek,  he  disenchanted  him  from  the  Talmud  and  the 
Rabbins.  The  two  were  afterwards  co-laborers  in  Nicolafs  Deutsche 
Bibliotliek,  the  first  German  Review  of  any  character,  which,  however,  in 
the  hands  of  Nicolai  himself,  it  subsequently  lost.  Mendelsohn's  Works 
have  mostly  been  translated  into  French. 


54  STATE  OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

are  the  least  chargeable  with  it :  a  certain  clear,  light,  un- 
affected elegance,  of  a  higher  nature  than  French  elegance, 
it  might  be,  yet  to  the  exclusion  of  all  very  deep  or  genial 
qualities,  was  the  excellence  they  strove  after,  and,  for  the 
most  part,  in  a  fair  measure  attained.  They  resemble  Eng- 
lish writers  of  the  same,  or  perhaps  an  earlier  period,  more 
than  any  other  foreigners :  apart  from  Pope,  whose  influence 
is  visible  enough,  Beattie,  Logan,  Wilkie,  Glover,  unknown 
perhaps  to  any  of  them,  might  otherwise  have  almost  seemed 
their  models.  Goldsmith  also  would  rank  among  them  ;  per- 
haps in  regard  to  true  poetic  genius,  at  their  head,  for  none 
of  them  lias  left  us  a  Vicar  of  Wakefield  ;  though,  in  regard 
to  judgment,  knowledge,  general  talent,  his  place  would 
scarcely  be  so  high. 

The  same  thing  holds  in  general,  and  with  fewer  draw- 
backs, of  the  somewhat  later  and  more  energetic  race,  de- 
nominated the  Gottingen  School;  in  contradistinction  from 
the  Saxon,  to  which  Babener,  Cramer  and  Gellert  directly  be- 
longed, and  most  of  those  others  indirectly.  Holty,  Burger, 
the  two  Stolbergs,  are  men  whom  Bossu  might  measure  with 
his  scales  and  compasses  as  strictly  as  he  pleased.  Of  Herder, 
Schiller,  Goethe,  we  speak  not  here  :  they  are  men  of  another 
stature  and  form  of  movement,  whom  Bossu's  scale  and  com- 
passes could  not  measure  without  difficulty  or  rather  not  at 
all.  To  say  that  such  men  wrote  with  taste  of  this  sort,  were 
saying  little ;  for  this  forms  not  the  apex,  but  the  basis,  in 
their  conception  of  style  ;  a  quality  not  to  be  paraded  as  an 
excellence,  but  to  be  understood  as  indispensable,  as  there  by 
necessit}r,  and  like  a  thing  of  course. 

In  truth,  for  it  must  be  spoken  out,  our  opponents  are 
widely  astray  in  this  matter  ;  so  widely  that  their  views  of  it 
are  not  only  dim  and  perplexed,  but  altogether  imaginary  and 
delusive.  It  is  proposed  to  school  the  Germans  in  the  Alpha- 
bet of  taste  ;  and  the  Germans  are  already  busied  with  their 
Accidence !  Far  from  being  behind  other  nations  in  the 
practice  or  science  of  Criticism,  it  is  a  fact,  for  which  we  fear- 
lessly refer  to  all  competent  judges,  that  they  are  distinctly 
and  even  considerably  in  advance.     We  state  what  is  already 


STATE  OF   GERMAN  LITERATURE.  55 

known  to  a  great  part  of  Europe  to  be  true.  Criticism  has 
assumed  a  new  form  in  Germany  ;  it  proceeds  on  other  prin- 
ciples, and  proposes  to  itself  a  higher  aim.  The  grand  ques- 
tion is  not  now  a  question  concerning  the  qualities  of  diction, 
the  coherence  of  metaphors,  the  fitness  of  sentiments,  the 
general  logical  truth,  in  a  work  of  art,  as  it  was  some  half 
century  ago  among  most  critics  ;  neither  is  it  a  question 
mainly  of  a  psychological  sort,  to  be  answered  by  discovering 
and  delineating  the  peculiar  nature  of  the  poet  from  his  poe- 
try, as  is  usual  with  the  best  of  our  own  critics  at  present  : 
but  it  is,  not  indeed  exclusively,  but  inclusively  of  those  two 
other  questions,  properly  and  ultimately  a  question  on  the 
essence  and  peculiar  life  of  the  poetry  itself.  The  first  of 
these  questions,  as  we  see  it  answered,  for  instance,  in  the 
criticisms  of  Johnson  and  Karnes,  relates,  strictly  speaking, 
to  the  garment  of  poetry  ;  the  second,  indeed,  to  its  body  and 
material  existence,  a  much  higher  point  ;  but  only  the  last  to 
its  soul  and  spiritual  existence,  by  which  alone  can  the  body, 
in  its  movements  and  phases,  be  informed  with  significance 
and  rational  life.  The  problem  is  not  now  to  determine  by 
what  mechanism  Addison  composed  sentences,  and  struck 
out  similitudes  ;  but  by  what  far  finer  and  more  mysterious 
mechanism  Shakspeare  organised  his  dramas,  and  gave  life 
and  individuality  to  his  Ariel  and  his  Hamlet.  Wherein  lies 
that  life  ;  how  have  they  attained  that  shape  and  individuality  ? 
Whence  comes  that  emp}-reaii  fire,  which  irradiates  their  whole 
being,  and  pierces,  at  least  in  starry  gleams,  like  a  diviner 
thing,  into  all  hearts  ?  Are  these  dramas  of  his  not  verisimilar 
only,  but  true  ;  nay,  truer  than  reality  itself,  since  the  essence 
of  unmixed  reality  is  bodied  forth  in  them  under  more  ex- 
pressive symbols  ?  What  is  this  unity  of  theirs  ;  and  can  our 
deeper  inspection  discern  it  to  be  indivisible,  and  existing  by 
necessity,  because  each  work  springs,  as  it  were,  from  the 
general  elements  of  all  Thought,  and  grows  up  therefrom, 
into  form  and  expansion  by  its  own  growth?  Not  only  who 
was  the  poet,  and  how  did  he  compose  ;  but  wThat  and  how 
was  the  poem,  and  why  was  it  a  poem  and  not  rhymed  elo- 
quence,  creation  and  not  figured    passion  ?      These  are  the 


56  STATE   OF   GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

questions  for  the  critic.  Criticism  stands  like  an  interpreter 
between  the  inspired  and  uninspired  ;  between  the  prophet 
and  those  who  hear  the  melody  of  his  words,  and  catch  some 
glimpse  of  their  material  meaning,  but  understand  not  their 
deeper  import.  She  pretends  to  open  for  us  this  deeper  im- 
port ;  to  clear  our  sense  that  it  may  discern  the  pure  bright- 
ness of  this  eternal  Beauty,  and  recognise  it  as  heavenly, 
under  all  forms  where  it  looks  forth,  and  reject,  as  of  the 
earth  earthy,  all  forms,  be  their  material  splendour  what  it 
may,  where  no  gleaming  of  that  other  shines  through. 

This  is  the  task  of  Criticism,  as  the  Germans  understand  it. 
And  how  do  they  accomplish  this  task  ?  By  a  vague  decla- 
mation clothed  in  gorgeous  mystic  phraseology  ?  By  vehe- 
ment tumultuous  anthems  to  the  poet  and  his  poetry  ;  by 
epithets  and  laudatory  similitudes  drawn  from  Tartarus  and 
Elysium,  and  all  intermediate  terrors  and  glories  ;  whereby, 
in^truth,  it  is  rendered  clear  both  that  the  poet  is  an  ex- 
tremely great  poet,  and  also  that  the  critic's  allotment  of  un- 
derstanding, overflowed  by  these  Pythian  raptures,  has  un- 
happily melted  into  deliquium  ?  Nowise  in  this  manner  do 
the  Germans  proceed :  but  by  rigorous  scientific  inquiry  by 
appeal  to  principles  which,  whether  correct  or  not,  have  been 
deduced  patiently,  and  by  long  investigation,  from  the  highest 
and  calmest  regions  of  Philosophy.  For  this  finer  portion  of 
their  Criticism  is  now  also  embodied  in  systems  ;  and  stand- 
ing, so  far  as  these  reach,  coherent,  distinct  and  methodical, 
no  less  than,  on  their  much  shallower  foundation,  the  systems 
of  Boileau  and  Blair.  That  this  new  Criticism  is  a  complete, 
much  more  a  certain  science,  we  are  far  from  meaning  to  af- 
firm :  the  cedhetic  theories  of  Kant,  Herder,  Schiller,  Goethe, 
Kichter,  vary  in  external  aspect,  according  to  the  varied  habits 
of  the  individual ;  and  can  at  best  only  be  regarded  as  ap- 
proximations to  the  truth,  or  modifications  of  it ;  each  critic 
representing  it,  as  it  harmonises  more  or  less  perfectly  with 
the  other  intellectual  persuasions  of  his  own  mind,  and  of 
different  classes  of  minds  that  resemble  his.  Nor  can  we 
here  undertake  to  inquire  what  degree  of  such  approximation 
to  the  truth  there  is  in  each  or  all  of  these  writers ;  or  in 


STATE  OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE.  57 

Tieck  and  the  two  Schlegels,  who,  especially  the  latter,  have 
laboured  so  meritoriously  in  reconciling  these  various  opin- 
ions ;  and  so  successfully  in  impressing  and  diffusing  the  best 
spirit  of  them,  first  in  their  own  country,  and  now  also  in 
several  others.  Thus  much,  however,  we  will  say  :  That  we 
reckon  the  mere  circumstance  of  such  a  science  being  in  ex- 
istence, a  ground  of  the  highest  consideration,  and  worthy 
the  best  attention  of  all  inquiring  men.  For  we  should  err 
widely  if  we  thought  that  this  new  tendency  of  critical  science 
pertains  to  Germany  alone.  It  is  a  European  tendency,  and 
springs  from  the  general  condition  of  intellect  in  Europe. 
We  ourselves  have  all,  for  the  last  thirty  years,  more  or  less 
distinctly  felt  the  necessity  of  such  a  science  :  witness  the 
neglect  into  which  our  Blairs  and  Bossus  have  silently  fallen ; 
our  increased  and  increasing  admiration,  not  only  of  Shak- 
speare,  but  of  all  his  contemporaries,  and  of  all  who  breathe 
any  portion  of  his  spirit ;  our  controversy  whether  Pope  was 
a  poet :  and  so  much  vague  effort  on  the  part  of  our  best 
critics,  everywhere  to  express  some  still  unexpressed  idea 
concerning  the  nature  of  true  poetry  ;  as  if  they  felt  in  their 
hearts  that  a  pure  glory,  nay  a  divineness,  belonged  to  it, 
for  which  they  had  as  yet  no  name,  and  no  intellectual  form. 
But  in  Italy  too,  in  France  itself,  the  same  thing  is  visible. 
Their  grand  controversy,  so  hotly  urged,  between  the  Classi- 
cist* and  Romanticists,  in  which  the  Schlegels  are  assumed, 
much  too  loosely,  on  all  hands,  as  the  patrons  and  generalis- 
simos of  the  latter,  shows  us  sufficiently  what  spirit  is  at  work 
in  that  long-stagnant  literature.  Doubtless  this  turbid  fer- 
mentation of  the  elements  will  at  length  settle  into  clearness, 
both  there  and  here,  as  in  Germany  it  has  already  in  a  great 
measure  done  ;  and  perhaps  a  more  serene  and  genial  poetic 
day  is  everywhere  to  be  expected  with  some  confidence.  How 
much  the  example  of  the  Germans  may  have  to  teach  us  in 
this  particular,  needs  no  further  exposition. 

The  authors  and  first  promulgators  of  this  new  critical  doc- 
trine were  at  one  time  contemptuously  named  the  New  ScJioot  ; 
nor  was  it  till  after  a  war  of  all  the  few  good  heads  in  the 
nation,  with  all  the  many  bad  ones,  had  ended  as  such  wars 


58  STATE  OF   GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

must  ever  do,1  that  these  critical  principles  were  generally 
adopted  ;  and  their  assertors  found  to  be  no  School,  or  new 
heretical  Sect,  but  the  ancient  primitive  Catholic  Communion, 
of  which  all  sects  that  had  any  living  light  in  them  were  but 
members  and  subordinate  modes.  It  is,  indeed,  the  most 
sacred  article  of  this  creed  to  preach  and  practise  universal 
tolerance.  Every  literature  of  the  world  has  been  cultivated 
by  the  Germans  ;  and  to  every  literature  they  have  studied  to 
give  due  honour.  Shakspeare  and  Homer,  no  doubt,  occupy 
alone  the  loftiest  station  in  the  poetical  Olympus  ;  but  there 
is  space  in  it  for  all  true  Singers  out  of  every  age  and  clime. 
Ferdusi  and  the  primeval  Mythologists  of  Hindostan  live  in 
brotherly  union  with  the  Troubadours  and  ancient  Storytellers 
of  the  West.  The  wayward  mystic  gloom  of  Calderon,  the 
lurid  fire  of  Dante,  the  auroral  light  of  Tasso,  the  clear  icy 
glitter  of  Eacine,  all  are  acknowledged  and  reverenced  ;  nay, 
in  the  celestial  forecourt  an  abode  has  been  appointed  for  the 
Gressets  and  Delilles,  that  no  spark  of  inspiration,  no  tone  of 
mental  music,  might  remain  unrecognised.  The  Germans 
study  foreign  nations  in  a  spirit  which  deserves  to  be  often  er 
imitated.  It  is  their  honest  endeavour  to  understand  each, 
with  its  own  peculiarities,  in  its  own  special  manner  of  exist- 
ing ;  not  that  they  may  praise  it,  or  censure  it,  or  attempt  to 
alter  it,  but  simply  that  they  may  see  this  manner  of  existiDg 
as  the  nation  itself  sees  it,  and  so  participate  in  whatever 
worth  or  beauty  it  has  brought  into  being.  Of  all  literatures, 
accordingly,  the  German  has  the  best  as  well  as  the  most 

1  It  began  in  Schiller's  Musenalmanach  for  1797.  The  Xenien  (a 
series  of  philosophic  epigrams  jointly  by  Schiller  and  Goethe,  descended 
there  unexpectedly,  like  a  flood  of  ethereal  fire,  on  the  German  literary 
world  ;  quickening  all  that  was  noble  into  new  life,  but  visiting  the  an- 
cient empire  of  Dulness  with  astonishment  and  unknown  pangs.  The 
agitation  was  extreme  ;  scarcely  since  the  age  of  Luther  has  there  been 
such  stir  and  strife  in  the  intellect  of  Germany  ;  indeed,  scarcely  since 
that  age  has  there  been  a  controversy,  if  we  consider  its  ultimate  bear- 
ings on  the  best  and  noblest  interests  of  mankind,  so  important  as  this 
which,  for  the  time,  seemed  only  to  turn  on  metaphysical  subtleties, 
and  matters  of  mere  elegance.  Its  farther  applications  became  apparent 
by  degrees. 


STATE  OF   GERMAN  LITERATURE.  59 

translations  ;  men  like  Goethe,  Schiller,  Wieland,  Schlegel, 
Tieck,  have  not  disdained  this  task.  Of  Shakspeare  there  are 
three  entire  versions  admitted  to  be  good  ;  and  we  know  not 
how  many  partial,  or  considered  as  bad.  In  their  criticisms 
of  him  we  ourselves  have  long  ago  admitted,  that  no  such 
clear  judgment  or  hearty  appreciation  of  his  merits  had  ever 
been  exhibited  by  any  critic  of  our  own. 

To  attempt  stating  in  separate  aphorisms  the  doctrines  of 
this  new  poetical  system,  would,  in  such  space  as  is  now  al- 
lowed us,  be  to  insure  them  of  misapprehension.  The  science 
of  Criticism,  as  the  Germans  practise  it,  is  no  study  of  an 
hour  ;  for  it  springs  from  the  depths  of  thought,  and  remotely 
or  immediately  connects  itself  with  the  subtlest  problems  of 
all  philosoph}r.  One  characteristic  of  it  we  may  state,  the  ob- 
vious parent  of  many  others.  Poetic  beauty,  in  its  pure  es- 
sence, is  not,  by  this  theory,  as  by  all  our  theories,  from 
Hume's  to  Alison's,  derived  from  anything  external,  or  of 
merely  intellectual  origin ;  not  from  association,  or  any  reflex 
or  reminiscence  of  mere  sensations  ;  nor  from  natural  love, 
either  of  imitation,  of  similarity  in  dissimilarit}',  of  excitement 
by  contrast,  or  of  seeing  difficulties  overcome.  On  the  con- 
trary, it  is  assumed  as  underived  ;  not  borrowing  its  existence 
from  such  sources,  but  as  lending  to  most  of  these  their  sig- 
nificance and  principal  charm  for  the  mind.  It  dwells  and  is 
born  in  the  inmost  Spirit  of  Man,  united  to  all  love  of  Virtue, 
to  all  true  belief  in  God  ;  or,  rather,  it  is  one  with  this  love 
and  this  belief,  another  phase  of  the  same  highest  principle 
in  the  mysterious  infinitude  of  the  human  Soul.  To  appre- 
hend this  beauty  of  poetry,  in  its  full  and  purest  brightness, 
is  not  easy,  but  difficult  ;  thousands  on  thousands  eagerly 
read  poems,  and  attain  not  the  smallest  taste  of  it ;  yet  to  all 
uncorrupted  hearts,  some  effulgences  of  this  heavenly  glory 
are  here  and  there  revealed  ;  and  to  apprehend  it  clearly  and 
wholly,  to  acquire  and  maintain  a  sense  and  heart  that  sees 
and  worships  it,  is  the  last  perfection  of  all  humane  culture. 
With  mere  readers  for  amusement,  therefore,  this  Criticism 
has,  and  can  have,  nothing  to  do  ;  these  find  their  amusement, 
in  less  or  greater  measure,  and  the  nature  of  Poetry  remains 


60  STATE  OF   GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

forever  hidden  from  them  in  deepest  concealment.  On  all 
hands,  there  is  no  truce  given  to  the  hypothesis,  that  the  ulti- 
mate object  of  the  poet  is  to  please.  Sensation,  even  of  the 
finest  and  most  rapturous  sort,  is  not  the  end,  but  the  means. 
Art  is  to  be  loved,  not  because  of  its  effects,  but  because  of 
itself  ;  not  because  it  is  useful  for  spiritual  pleasure,  or  even 
for  moral  culture,  but  because  it  is  Art,  and  the  highest  in 
man,  and  the  soul  of  all  Beauty.  To  inquire  after  its  utility, 
would  be  like  inquiring  after  the  utility  of  a  God,  or,  what  to 
the  Germans  would  sound  stranger  than  it  does  to  us,  the 
utility  of  Virtue  and  Religion. — On  these  particulars,  the  au- 
thenticity of  which  we  might  verify,  not  so  much  by  citation 
of  individual  passages,  as  by  reference  to  the  scope  and  spirit 
of  whole  treatises,  we  must  for  the  present  leave  our  readers 
to  their  own  reflections.  Might  we  advise  them,  it  would  be 
to  inquire  farther,  and,  if  possible,  to  see  the  matter  with 
their  own  eyes. 

Meanwhile,  that  all  this  must  tend,  among  the  Germans,  to 
raise  the  general  standard  of  Art,  and  of  what  an  Artist  ought 
to  be  in  his  own  esteem  and  that  of  others,  will  be  readily 
inferred.  The  character  of  a  Poet  does,  accordingly,  stand 
higher  with  the  Germans  than  with  most  nations.  That  he  is 
a  man  of  integrity  as  a  man  ;  of  zeal  and  honest  diligence 
in  his  art,  and  of  true  manly  feeling  towards  all  men,  is  of 
course  presupposed.  Of  persons  that  are  not  so,  but  employ 
their  gift,  in  rhyme  or  otherwise,  for  brutish  or  maligant  pur- 
poses, it  is  understood  that  such  lie  without  the  limits  of 
Criticism,  being  subjects  not  for  the  judge  of  Art,  but  for  the 
judge  of  Police.  But  even  with  regard  to  the  fair  tradesman, 
who  offers  his  talent  in  open  market,  to  do  work  of  a  harmless 
and  acceptable  sort  for  hire, — with  regard  to  this  person 
also,  their  opinion  is  very  low.  The  '  Bread-artist,'  as  they 
call  him,  can  gain  no  reverence  for  himself  from  these  men. 
'  Unhappy  mortal ! '  says  the  mild  but  lofty-minded  Schiller, 
'  Unhappy  mortal !  that,  with  Science  and  Art,  the  noblest 
'  of  all  instruments,  effectest  and  attemptest  nothing  more 
*  than  the  day-drudge  with  the  meanest ;  that,  in  the  domain 
'  of  perfect   Freedom,  bearest   about   in  thee   the   spirit   of 


STATE   OF   GERMAN  LITERATURE.  C»l 

'  a  Slave  !  '  Nay,  to  the  genuine  Poet  they  deny  even  the 
privilege  of  regarding  what  so  many  cherish,  under  the  title 
of  their  '  fame,'  as  the  "best  and  highest  of  all.  Hear  Schiller 
again  : 

'  The  Artist,  it  is  true,  is  the  son  of  his  age  ;  but  pity  for 
him  if  he  is  its  pupil,  or  even  its  favourite  !  Let  some  benefi- 
cent divinity  snatch  him,  when  a  suckling,  from  the  breast 
of  his  mother,  and  nurse  him  with  the  milk  of  a  better  time. 
that  he  may  ripen  to  his  full  stature  beneath  a  distant  Grecian 
sky.  And  having  grown  to  manhood,  let  him  return,  a  foreign 
shape,  into  his  century  ;  not,  however,  to  delight  it  by  his 
presence,  but  dreadful,  like  the  son  of  Agamemnon,  to  purify 
it.  The  matter  of  his  works  he  will  take  from  the  present, 
but  their  form  he  will  derive  from  a  nobler  time  ;  nay,  from 
beyond  all  time,  from  the  absolute  unchanging  unity  of  his 
own  nature.  Here,  from  the  pure  sether  of  his  spiritual  es- 
sence, flows  down  the  Fountain  of  Beauty,  uncontaminated 
by  the  pollutions  of  ages  and  generations,  which  roll  to  and 
fro  in  their  turbid  vortex  far  beneath  it.  His  matter  Caprice 
can  dishonour,  as  she  has  ennobled  it  ;  but  the  chaste  form  is 
withdrawn  from  her  mutations.  The  Roman  of  the  first  cen- 
tury had  long  bent  the  knee  before  his  Cresars,  when  the 
statues  of  Rome  were  still  standing  erect ;  the  temples  con- 
tinued holy  to  the  eye,  when  their  gods  had  long  been  a  laugh- 
ing-stock ;  and  the  abominations  of  a  Nero  and  a  Commodus 
were  silently  rebuked  by  the  style  of  the  edifice,  which  lent 
them  its  concealment.  Man  has  lost  his  dignity,  but  art  has 
saved  it,  and  preserved  it  for  him  in  expressive  marbles. 
Truth  still  lives  in  fiction,  and  from  the  copy  the  original  will 
be  restored. 

'  But  how  is  the  Artist  to  guard  himself  from  the  corrup- 
tions of  his  time,  which  on  every  side  assail  him  ?  By  despis- 
ing its  decisions.  Let  him  look  upwards  to  his  dignity  and 
the  law,  not  downwrards  to  his  happiness  and  his  wants.  Free 
alike  from  the  vain  activity  that  longs  to  impress  its  traces 
on  the  fleeting  instant,  and  from  the  querulous  spirit  of  en- 
thusiasm that  measures  by  the  scale  of  perfection  the  meagre 
product  of  reality,  let  him  leave  to  mere  Understanding,  which 
is  here  at  home,  the  province  of  the  actual  ;  wrhile  he  strives,  by 
uniting  the  possible  with  the  necessaiw,  to  produce  the  ideal, 
This  let  him  imprint  and  express  in  fiction  and  truth  ;  imprint 
it  in  the  sport  of  his  imagination  and  the  earnest  of  his  actions  ; 


62  STATE   OF   GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

imprint  it  in  all  sensible  and  spiritual  forms,  and  cast  it  si- 
lently into  everlasting  time.' ' 

Still  higher  are  Fichte's  notions  on  this  subject  ;  or  rather 
expressed  in  higher  terms,  for  the  central  principle  is  the  same 
both  in  the  philosopher  and  the  poet.  According  to  Fichte, 
there  is  a  '  Divine  Idea  '  pervading  the  visible  Universe  ;  which 
visible  Universe  is  indeed  but  its  symbol  and  sensible  mani- 
festation, having  in  itself  no  meaning,  or  even  true  existence 
independent  of  it.  To  the  mass  of  men  this  Divine  Idea  of 
the  world  lies  hidden  :  yet  to  discern  it,  to  seize  it,  and  live 
wholly  in  it,  is  the  condition  of  all  genuine  virtue,  knowledge, 
freedom  ;  and  the  end,  therefore,  of  all  spiritual  effort  in 
every  age.  Literary  Men  are  the  appointed  interpreters  of 
this  Divine  Idea  ;  a  perpetual  priesthood,  we  might  say,  stand- 
ing forth  generation  after  generation,  as  the  dispensers  and 
living  types  of  God's  everlasting  wisdom,  to  show  it  in  their 
writings  and  actions,  in  such  particular  form  as  their  own  par- 
ticular times  require  it  in.  For  each  age,  by  the  law  of  its  nat- 
ure, is  different  from  every  other  age,  and  demands  a  different 
representation  of  the  Divine  Idea,  the  essence  of  which  is  the 
same  in  all  ;  so  that  the  literary  man  of  one  century  is  only  by 
mediation  and  re-interpretation  applicable  to  the  wants  of  an- 
other. But  in  every  century,  every  man  who  labours,  be  it  in 
what  province  he  may,  to  teach  others,  must  first  have  pos- 
sessed himself  of  the  Divine  Idea,  or,  at  least,  be  with  his 
whole  heart  and  his  whole  soul  striving  after  it.  If,  without 
possessing  it  or  striving  after  it,  he  abide  diligently  by  some 
material  practical  department  of  knowledge,  he  may  indeed 
still  be  (says  Fichte,  in  his  rugged  way)  a  '  useful  hodman  ; ' 
but  should  he  attempt  to  deal  with  the  Whole,  and  to  become 
an  architect,  he  is,  in  strictness  of  language,  '  Nothing  ; ' — '  he 
'  is  an  ambiguous  mongrel  between  the  possessor  of  the  Idea, 
'  and  the  man  who  feels  himself  solidly  supported  and  car- 
'  ried  on  by  the  common  Reality  of  things  :  in  his  fruitless 
'  endeavour  after  the  Idea,  he  has   neglected   to  acquire  the 

1  Ueber  die  Aesthetisclie  Erziehung  cles  Merischen,—Q\\  the  Esthetic 
Education  of  Man. 


STATE  OF   GERMAN  LITERATURE.  63 

'  craft  of  taking  part  in  this  Reality  ;  and  so  hovers  between 
'  two  worlds,  without  pertaining  to  either.'  Elsewhere  he 
adds  : 

'  There  is  still,  from  another  point  of  view,  another  division 
in  our  notion  of  the  Literary  Man,  and  one  to  us  of  immediate 
application.  Namely,  either  the  Literary  Man  has  already  laid 
hold  of  the  whole  Divine  Idea,  in  so  far  as  it  can  be  compre- 
hended by.  man,  or  perhaps  of  a  special  portion  of  this  its 
comprehensible  part, — which  truly  is  not  possible  without  at 
least  a  clear  oversight  of  the  whole  ; — he  has  already  laid  hold 
of  it,  penetrated,  and  made  it  entirely  clear  to  himself,  so  that 
it  has  become  a  possession  recallable  at  all  times  in  the  same 
shape  to  his  view,  and  a  component  part  of  his  personality : 
in  that  case  he  is  a  completed  and  equipt  Literary  Man,  a  man 
who  has  studied.  Or  else,  he  is  still  struggling  and  striving 
to  make  the  Idea  in  general,  or  that  particular  portion  and 
point  of  it,  from  which  onwards  he  for  his  part  means  to  pene- 
trate the  whole, — entirely  clear  to  himself ;  detached  sparkles 
of  light  already  spring  forth  on  him  from  all  sides,  and  dis- 
close a  higher  world  before  him  ;  but  they  do  not  yet  unite 
themselves  into  an  indivisible  whole  ;  they  vanish  from  his 
view  as  capriciously  as  they  came  ;  he  cannot  yet  bring  them 
under  obedience  to  his  freedom  :  in  that  case  he  is  a  progress- 
ing and  self-unfolding  literary  man,  a  Student.  That  it  be 
actually  the  Idea,  which  is  possessed  or  striven  after,  is  com- 
mon to  both.  Should  the  striving  aim  merely  at  the  outward 
form,  and  the  letter  of  learned  culture,  there  is  then  produced, 
when  the  circle  is  gone  round,  the  completed,  when  it  is  not 
yet  gone  round,  the  progressing,  Bungler  (Stilmper).  The 
latter  is  more  tolerable  than  the  former ;  for  there  is  still  room 
to  hope  that,  in  continuing  his  travel,  he  may  at  some  future 
point   be    seized    by  the  Idea ;  but  of   the  first  all  hope  is 


From  this  bold  and  lofty  principle  the  duties  of  the  Liter- 
ary Man  are  deduced  with  scientific  precision  ;  and  stated,  in 
all  their  sacredness  and  grandeur,  with  an  austere  brevity 
more  impressive  than  any  rhetoric.  Fichte's  metaphysical 
theory  may  be  called  in  question,  and  readily  enough  misap- 

1  Ueber  das  Wese?i  des  Gelehrten  (On  the  Nature  of  the  Literary  Man) : 
a  Course  of  Lectures  delivered  at  Erlangen,  in  1805. 


64  STATE  OF   GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

prekended ;  but  the  sublime  stoicism  of  his  sentiments  will 
find  some  response  in  many  a  heart.  We  must  add  the  con- 
clusion of  his  first  Discourse,  as  a  farther  illustration  of  his 
manner : 

'  In  disquisitions  of  the  sort  like  ours  of  to-day,  which  all 
the  rest  too  must  resemble,  the  generality  are  wont  to  censure  : 
First,  their  severity ;  very  often  on  the  goodnatured  supposi- 
tion that  the  speaker  is  not  aware  how  much  his  rigour  must 
displease  us  ;  that  we  have  but  frankly  to  let  him  know  this, 
and  then  doubtless  he  will  reconsider  himself,  and  soften  his 
statements.  Thus,  we  said  above,  that  a  man  who,  after  liter- 
ary culture,  had  not  arrived  at  knowledge  of  the  Divine  Idea, 
or  did  not  strive  towards  it,  was  in  strict  speech  Nothing  ; 
and  farther  down,  we  said  that  he  was  a  Bungler.  This  is  in 
the  style  of  those  unmerciful  expressions  by  which  philoso- 
phers give  such  offence. — Now,  looking  away  from  the  present 
case,  that  we  may  front  the  maxim  in  its  general  shape,  I  re- 
mind you  that  this  species  of  character,  without  decisive  force 
to  renounce  all  respect  for  Truth,  seeks  merely  to  bargain 
and  cheapen  something  out  of  her,  whereby  he  himself  on 
easier  terms  may  attain  to  some  consideration.  But  Truth, 
which  once  for  all  is  as  she  is,  and  cannot  alter  aught  of  her 
nature,  goes  on  her  way  ;  and  there  remains  for  her,  in  regard 
to  those  who  desire  her  not  simply  because  she  is  true,  noth- 
ing else,  but  to  leave  them  standing  as  if  they  had  never  ad- 
dressed her. 

'  Then  farther,  discourses  of  this  sort  are  wont  to  be  cen- 
sured as  unintelligible.  Thus  I  figure  to  myself, — nowise 
you,  Gentlemen,  bat  some  completed  Literary  Man  of  the 
second  species,  whose  eye  the  disquisition  here  entered  upon 
chanced  to  meet,  as  coming  forward,  doubting  this  way  and 
that,  and  at  last  reflectively  exclaiming :  "  The  Idea,  the  Divine 
Idea,  that  which  lies  at  the  bottom  of  Appearance  :  what,  pray, 
may  this  mean  ?  "  Of  such  a  questioner  I  would  inquire  in 
turn  :  "What,  pray,  may  this  question  mean?" — Investigate 
it  strictly  ;  it  means  in  most  cases  nothing  more  than  so  : 
"  Under  what  other  names,  and  in  what  other  formulas,  do  I 
already  know  this  same  thing,  which  thou  expressest  by  so 
strange  and  to  me  so  unknown  a  symbol  ?  "  And  to  this  again 
in  most  cases  the  only  suitable  reply  were  so :  "Thou  knowest 
this  thing  not  at  all,  neither  under  this,  nor  under  any  other 
name  ;  and  wouldst  thou  arrive  at  the  knowledge  of  it,  thou 


STATE   OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE.  65 

must  even  now  begin  at  the  beginning  to  make  study  thereof  ; 
— and  then,  most  fitly,  under  that  name  by  which  it  is  here 
first  presented  to  thee  !  " ' 

With  such  a  notion  of  the  Artist,  it  were  a  strange  incon- 
sistency did  Criticism  show  itself  unscientific  or  lax  in  estimat- 
ing the  product  of  his  Art.  For  light  on  this  point,  we  might 
refer  to  the  writings  of  almost  any  individual  among  the  Ger- 
man critics  :  take,  for  instance,  the  Charakteristiken  of  the 
two  Schlegels,  a  work  too  of  their  younger  years  ;  and  say 
whether  in  depth,  clearness,  minute  and  patient  fidelity,  these 
Characters  have  often  been  surpassed,  or  the  import  and  poetic 
worth  of  so  many  poets  and  poems  more  vividly  and  accurately 
brought  to  view.  As  an  instance  of  a  much  higher  kind,  we 
might  refer  to  Goethe's  criticism  of  Hamlet  in  his  Wilhelm 
Meister.  This  truly  is  what  may  be  called  the  poetry  of  criti- 
cism :  for  it  is  in  some  sort  also  a  creative  art  ;  aiming,  at 
least,  to  reproduce  under  a  different  shape  the  existing  prod- 
uct of  the  poet ;  painting  to  the  intellect  what  already  lay 
painted  to  the  heart  and  the  imagination.  Nor  is  it  over 
poetry  alone  that  criticism  watches  with  such  loving  strict- 
ness :  the  mimic,  the  pictorial,  the  musical  arts,  all  modes  of 
representing  or  addressing  the  highest  nature  of  man,  are 
acknowledged  as  3rounger  sisters  of  Poetry,  and  fostered  with 
like  care.  Winkelmann's  History  of  Plastic  Art  is  known  by 
repute  to  all  readers  :  and  of  those  who  know  it  by  inspection, 
many  may  have  wondered  why  such  a  work  has  not  been 
added  to  our  own  literature,  to  instruct  our  own  statuaries 
and  painters.  On  this  subject  of  the  plastic  arts,  we  cannot 
withhold  the  following  little  sketch  of  Goethe's,  as  a  specimen 
of  pictorial  criticism  in  what  we  consider  a  superior  style. 
It  is  of  an  imaginary  Landscape-painter,  and  his  views  of  Swiss 
scenery  ;  it  will  bear  to  be  studied  minutely,  for  there  is  no 
word  without  its  meaning  : 

'He  succeeds  in  representing  the  cheerful  repose  of  lake 

prospects,  where  houses  in  friendly  approximation,  imaging 

themselves  in  the  clear  wave,  seem  as  if  bathing  in  its  depths  ; 

shores  encircled  with  green   hills,  behind  which  rise   forest 

5 


66  STATE  OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

mountains,  and  icy  peaks  of  glaciers.  The  tone  of  colouring 
in  such  scenes  is  gay,  mirthfully  clear  ;  the  distances  as  if 
overflowed  with  softening  vapour,  which  from  watered  hollows 
and  river-valleys  mounts  up  grayer  and  mistier,  and  indicates 
their  windings.  No  less  is  the  master's  art  to  be  praised  in 
views  from  valleys  lying  nearer  the  high  Alpine  ranges,  where 
declivities  slope  down,  luxuriantly  overgrown,  and  fresh 
streams  roll  hastily  along  by  the  foot  of  rocks. 

'  With  exquisite  skill,  in  the  deep  shady  trees  of  the  fore- 
ground, he  gives  the  distinctive  character  of  the  several 
species ;  satisfying  us  in  the  form  of  the  whole,  as  in  the 
structure  of  the  branches,  and  the  details  of  the  leaves  ;  no 
less  so,  in  the  fresh  green  with,  its  manifold  shadings,  where 
soft  airs  appear  as  if  fanning  us  with  benignant  breath,  and 
the  lights  as  if  thereby  put  in  motion. 

'In  the  middle-ground,  his  lively  green  tone  grows  fainter 
by  degrees ;  and  at  last,  on  the  more  distant  mountain-tops, 
passing  into  weak  violet,  weds  itself  with  the  blue  of  the  sky. 
But  our  artist  is  above  all  happy  in  his  paintings  of  high  Al- 
pine regions  ;  in  seizing  the  simple  greatness  and  stillness  of 
their  character  ;  the  wide  pastures  on  the  slopes,  where  dark 
solitary  firs  stand  forth  from  the  grassy  carpet ;  and  from 
high  cliffs  foaming  brooks  rush  down.  Whether  he  relieve 
his  pasturages  with  grazing  cattle,  or  the  narrow  "winding 
rocky  path  with  mules  and  laden  pack-horses,  he  paints  all 
with  equal  truth  and  richness  ;  still  introduced  in  the  proper 
place,  and  not  in  too  great  copiousness,  they  decorate  and  en- 
liven these  scenes,  without  interrupting,  without  lessening 
their  peaceful  solitude.  The  execution  testifies  a  master's 
hand  ;  easy,  with  a  few  sure  strokes,  and  yet  complete.  In 
his  later  pieces,  he  employed  glittering  English  permanent- 
colours  on  paper  :  these  pictures,  accordingly,  are  of  pre- 
eminently blooming  tone  ;  cheerful,  yet,  at  the  same  time, 
strong  and  sated. 

t  'His  views  of  deep  mountain-chasms,  where,  round  and 
round,  nothing  fronts  us  but  dead  rock,  where,  in  the  abyss, 
overspanned  by  its  bold  arch,  the  wild  stream  rages,  are,  in- 
deed, of  less  attraction  than  the  former :  yet  their  truth  excites 
us ;  wre  admire  the  great  effect  of  the  whole,  produced  at  so 
little  cost,  by  a  few  expressive  strokes,  and  masses  of  local 
colours. 

'  With  no  less  accuracy  of  character  can  he  represent  the 
regions  of  the  topmost  Alpine  ranges,  where  neither  tree  nor 
shrub  any  more  appears  ;  but  only  amid  the  rocky  teeth  and 


STATE   OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE.  67 

snow-summits,  a  few  sunny  spots  clothe  themselves  with  a 
soft  sward.  Beautiful,  and  balmy  and  inviting  as  he  colours 
these  spots,  he  has  here  wisely  forborne  to  introduce  grazing 
herds  ;  for  these  regions  give  food  only  to  the  chamois,  and  a 
perilous  employment  to  the  wild-hay-men.' ' 

We  have  extracted  this  passage  from  W'dhelm  Meisters  Won- 
derjahre,  Goethe's  last  Novel.  The  perusal  of  his  whole 
Works  would  show,  among  many  other  more  important  facts, 
that  Criticism  also  is  a  science  of  which  he  is  master  ;  that  if 
ever  any  man  had  studied  Art  in  all  its  branches  and  bearings, 
from  its  origin  in  the  depths  of  the  creative  spirit,  to  its 
minutest  finish  on  the  canvas  of  the  painter,  on  the  lips  of 
the  poet,  or  under  the  finger  of  the  musician,  he  was  that 
man.  A  nation  which  appreciates  such  studies,  nay  requires 
and  rewards  them,  cannot,  wherever  its  defects  may  lie,  be 
defective  in  judgment  of  the  arts. 

But  a  weightier  question  still  remains.  What  has  been  the 
fruit  of  this  its  high  and  just  judgment  on  these  matters? 
What  has  criticism  profited  it,  to  the  bringing  forth  of  good 
works  ?  How  do  its  poems  and  its  poets  correspond  with  so 
lofty  a  standard  ?  We  answer,  that  on  this  point  also,  Ger- 
many may  rather  court  investigation  than  fear  it.  There  are 
poets  in  that  country  who  belong  to  a  nobler  class  than  most 
nations  have  to  show  in  these  days  ;  a  class  entirely  unknown 
to  some  nations ;  and,  for  the  last  two  centuries,  rare  in  all. 
We  have  no  hesitation  in  stating,  that  we  see  in  certain  of  the 
best  German  poets,  and  those  too  of  our  owti  time,  something 
which  associates  them,  remotely  or  nearly  we  say  not,  but 
which  does  associate  them  with  the  Masters  of  Art,  the  Saints 
of  Poetry,  long  since  departed,  and,  as  we  thought,  without 
successors,  from  the  earth,  but  canonised  in  the  hearts  of  all 
generations,  and  yet  living  to  all  by  the  memory  of  what  they 
did  and  were.     Glances  we  do  seem  to  find  of  that  ethereal 

1  The  poor  wild-hay-man  of  the  Rigiberg, 
Whose  trade  is,  on  the  brow  of  the  abyss, 
To  mow  the  common  grass  from  nooks  and  shelves, 
To  which  the  cattle  dare  not  climb. 

—Schiller's  Williebm  Tell. 


GS  STATE   OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

glory,  which  looks  on  us  in  its  full  brightness  from  the  Trans- 
figuration of  RafFaelle,  from  the  Tempest  of  Shakspeare  ;  and 
in  broken,  but  purest  and  still  heart-piercing  beams,  strug- 
gling through  the  gloom  of  long  ages,  from  the  tragedies  of 
Sophocles,  and  the  weather-worn  sculptures  of  the  Parthenon. 
This  is  that  heavenly  spirit,  which,  best  seen  in  the  aerial  em- 
bodiment of  poetry,  but  spreading  likewise  over  all  the 
thoughts  and  actions  of  an  age,  has  given  us  Surreys,  Sydneys, 
Raleighs  in  court  and  camp,  Cecils  in  policy,  Hookers  in 
divinity,  Bacons  in  philosophy,  and  Shakspeares  and  Spensers 
in  song.  All  hearts  that  know  this,  know  it  to  be  the  highest ; 
and  that,  in  poetry  or  elsewhere,  it  alone  is  true  and  im- 
perishable. In  affirming  that  any  vestige,  however  feeble,  of 
this  divine  spirit,  is  discernible  in  German  poetry,  we  are 
aware  that  we  place  it  above  the  existing  poetry  of  any  other 
nation. 

To  prove  this  bold  assertion,  logical  arguments  were  at  all 
times  unavailing  ;  and,  in  the  present  circumstances  of  the 
case,  more  than  usually  so.  Neither  will  any  extract  or  spe- 
cimen help  us  ;  for  it  is  not  in  parts,  but  in  whole  poems, 
that  the  spirit  of  a  true  poet  is  to  be  seen.  We  can,  there- 
fore, only  name  such  men  as  Tieck,  Richter,  Herder,  Schiller, 
and,  above  all,  Goethe  ;  and  ask  any  reader  who  has  learned 
to  admire  wisely  our  own  literature  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  age, 
to  peruse  these  writers  also  ;  to  study  them  till  he  feels  that 
he  has  understood  them,  and  justly  estimated  both  their  light 
and  darkness ;  and  then  to  pronounce  whether  it  is  not,  in 
some  degree,  as  we  have  said.  Are  there  not  tones  here  of 
that  old  melody  ?  Are  there  not  glimpses  of  that  serene  soul, 
that  calm  harmonious  strength,  that  smiling  earnestness,  that 
Love  and  Faith  and  Humanity  of  nature  ?  Do  these  foreign 
contemporaries  of  ours  still  exhibit,  in  their  characters  as 
men,  something  of  that  sterling  nobleness,  that  union  of 
majesty  with  meekness,  which  wre  must  ever  venerate  in  those 
our  spiritual  fathers  ?  And  do  their  works,  in  the  new  form 
of  this  century,  show  forth  that  old  nobleness,  not  consistent 
only,  with  the  science,  the  precision,  the  scepticism  of  these 
days,  but  wedded  to  them,  incorporated  with  them,  and  shin- 


STATE  OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE.  69 

ing  through  them  like  their  life  and  soul  ?  Might  it  in  truth 
almost  seem  to  us,  in  reading  the  prose  of  Goethe,  as  if  we 
were  reading  that  of  Milton  ;  and  of  Milton  writing  with  the 
culture  of  this  time  ;  combining  French  clearness  with  old 
English  depth  ?  And  of  his  poetry  may  it  indeed  be  said  that 
it  is  poetry,  and  yet  the  poetry  of  our  own  generation  ;  an 
ideal  world,  and  yet  the  world  we  even  now  live  in  ? — These 
questions  we  must  leave  candid  and  studious  inquirers  to  an- 
swer for  themselves  ;  premising  only,  that  the  secret  is  not 
to  be  found  on  the  surface  ;  that  the  first  reply  is  likely  to  be 
in  the  negative,  but  with  inquirers  of  this  sort,  by  no  means 
likely  to  be  the  final  one. 

To  ourselves,  we  confess,  it  has  long  so  appeared.  The 
poetry  of  Goethe,  for  instance,  we  reckon  to  be  Poetry,  some- 
times in  the  very  highest  sense  of  that  word  ;  yet  it  is  no 
reminiscence,  but  something  actually  present  and  before  us  ; 
no  looking  back  into  an  antique  Fairyland,  divided  by  im- 
passable abysses  from  the  real  world  as  it  lies  about  us  and 
within  us ;  but  a  looking  round  upon  that  real  world  itself, 
now  rendered  holier  to  our  eyes,  and  once  more  become  a 
solemn  temple,  where  the  spirit  of  Beauty  still  dwells,  and  is 
still,  under  new  emblems,  to  be  worshipped  as  of  old.  "With. 
Goethe,  the  mythologies  of  b}rgone  days  pass  only  for  what 
they  are  :  we  have  no  witchcraft  or  magic  in  the  common  ac- 
ceptation ;  and  spirits  no  longer  bring  with  them  airs  from 
heaven  or  blasts  from  hell ;  for  Pandemonium  and  the  sted- 
fast  Empyrean  have  faded  away,  since  the  opinions  which 
they  symbolised  no  longer  are.  Neither  does  he  bring  his 
heroes  from  remote  Oriental  climates,  or  periods  of  Chivalry, 
or  any  section  either  of  Atlantis  or  the  Age  of  Gold ;  feeling 
that  the  reflex  of  these  things  is  cold  and  faint,  and  only  hangs 
like  a  cloud-picture  in  the  distance,  beautiful  but  delusive. 
and  which  even  the  simplest  know  to  be  a  delusion.  The  end 
of  Poetry  is  higher :  she  must  dwell  in  Eeality,  and  become 
manifest  to  men  in  the  forms  among  which  they  live  and 
move.  And  this  is  what  we  prize  in  Goethe,  and  more  or 
less  in  Schiller  and  the  rest ;  all  of  whom,  each  in  his  own 
way,  are  writers  of  a  similar  aim.     The  coldest  sceptic,  the 


70  STATE  OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

most  callous  worldling,  sees  not  the  actual  aspects  of  life 
more  sharply  than  they  are  here  delineated  :  the  Nineteeth 
Century  stands  before  us,  in  all  its  contradiction  and  perplex- 
ity ;  barren,  mean  and  baleful,  as  we  have  all  known  it ;  yet 
hero  no  longer  mean  or  barren,  but  enamelled  into  beauty  in 
the  poet's  spirit  ;  for  its  secret  significance  is  laid  open,  and 
thus,  as  it  were,  the  life-giving  fire  that  slumbers  in  it  is 
called  forth,  and  flowers  and  foliage,  as  of  old,  are  springing 
on  its  bleakest  wildernesses,  and  overmantling  its  sternest 
cliffs.  For  these  men  have  not  only  the  clear  eye,  but  the 
loving  heart.  They  have  penetrated  into  the  mystery  of 
Nature  ;  after  long  trial  they  have  been  initiated ;  and  to  un- 
wearied endeavour,  Art  has  at  last  yielded  her  secret ;  and 
thus  can  the  Spirit  of  our  Age,  embodied  in  fair  imaginations, 
look  forth  on  us,  earnest  and  full  of  meaning,  from  their 
works.  As  the  first  and  indispensable  condition  of  good 
poets,  they  are  wise  and  good  men  :  much  they  have  seen 
and  suffered,  and  they  have  conquered  all  this,  and  made  it 
all  their  own  ;  they  have  known  life  in  its  heights  and  depths, 
and  mastered  in  it  both,  and  can  teach  others  what  it  is,  and 
how  to  lead  it  rightly.  Their  minds  are  as  a  mirror  to  us, 
where  the  perplexed  image  of  our  own  being  is  reflected  back 
in  soft  and  clear  interpretation.  Here  mirth  and  gravity  are 
blended  together ;  wit  rests  on  deep  devout  wisdom,  as  the 
greensward  with  its  flowers  must  rest  on  the  rock,  whose 
foundations  reach  downward  to  the  centre.  In  a  word,  they 
are  believers  ;  but  their  faith  is  no  sallow  plant  of  darkness  ; 
it  is  green  and  flowery,  for  it  grows  in  the  sunlight.  And 
this  faith  is  the  doctrine  they  have  to  teach  us,  the  sense 
which,  under  every  noble  and  graceful  form,  it  is  their  en- 
deavour to  set  forth  : 

'  As  all  Nature's  thousand  changes 
But  one  changeless  God  proclaim, 
So  in  Art's  wide  kingdoms  ranges 
One  sole  meaning,  still  the  same : 
This  is  Truth,  eternal  Reason, 
Which  from  Beauty  takes  its  dress, 
And,  serene  through  time  and  season, 
Stands  for  aye  in  loveliness.' 


STATE  OF   GERMAN  LITERATURE.  71 

Such  indeed  is  the  end  of  Poetry  at  all  times  ;  yet  in  np  re- 
cent literature  known  to  us,  except  the  German,  has  it  been 
so  far  attained  ;  nay,  perhaps,  so  much  as  consciously  and 
stedfastly  attempted. 

The  reader  feels  that  if  this  our  ojrinion  be  in  any  measure 
true,  it  is  a  truth  of  no  ordinary  moment.  It  concerns  not 
Ibis  writer  or  that  ;  but  it  opens  to  us  new  views  on  the  fort- 
une of  spiritual  culture  with  ourselves  and  all  nations.  Have 
we  not  heard  gifted  men  complaining  that  Poetry  had  passed 
away  without  return  ;  that  creative  imagination  consorted  not 
with  vigour  of  intellect,  and  that  in  the  cold  light  of  science 
there  was  no  longer  room  for  faith  in  things  unseen  ?  The 
old  simplicity  of  heart  was  gone  ;  earnest  emotions  must  no 
longer  be  expressed  in  earnest  symbols  ;  beauty  must  recede 
into  elegance,  devoutness  of  character  be  replaced  by  clear- 
ness of  thought,  and  grave  wisdom  by  shrewdness  and  persi- 
flage. Such  things  we  have  heard,  but  hesitated  to  believe 
them.  If  the  Poetry  of  the  Germans,  and  this  not  by  theory 
but  by  example,  have  proved,  or  even  begun  to  prove,  the 
contrary,  it  will  deserve  far  higher  encomiums  than  any  we 
have  passed  upon  it. 

In  fact,  the  past  and  present  aspect  of  German  literature 
illustrates  the  literature  of  England  in  more  than  one  way. 
Its  history  keeps  pace  with  that  of  ours  ;  for  so  closely  are  all 
European  communities  connected,  that  the  phases  of  mind  in 
any  one  country,  so  far  as  these  represent  its  general  circum- 
stances and  intellectual  position,  are  but  modified  repetitions 
of  its  phases  in  every,  other.  We  hinted  above,  that  the 
Saxon  School  corresjDonded  with  wThat  might  be  called  the 
Scotch :  Cramer  was  not  unlike  our  Blair :  Von  Cronegk 
might  be  compared  with  Michael  Bruce  ;  and  Kabener  and 
Gellert  with  Beattie  and  Logan.  To  this  mild  and  cultivated 
period,  there  succeeded,  as  with  us,  a  partial  abandonment  of 
poetry,  in  favor  of  political  and  philosophical  Illumination. 
Then  was  the  time  when  hot  war  was  declared  against  Preju- 
dice of  all  sorts  ;  Utility  was  set  up  for  the  universal  measure 
of  mental  as  well  as  material  value;  poetry,  except  of  an 
economical  and  preceptorial  character,  was  found  to  be  the 


72  STATE  OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

product  of  a  rude  age ;  and  religious  enthusiasm  7X"  QUA 
derangement  in  the  biliary  organs.  Then  did  the  Pn^as  and 
Oondccets  of  Germany  indulge  in  day-dreams  of  perfectibil* 
:fr  j  „  xiew  social  order  was  to  bring  back  the  Saturniai  ^ra 
to  the  world  ;  and  philosophers  sat  on  their  sunny  Pisg  *  b 
looking  back  over  dark  savage  deserts,  and  forward  into 
land  flowing  with  milk  and  honey. 

This  period  also  passed  away,  with  its  good  and  its  evil, 
of  which  chiefly  the  latter  seems  to  be  remembered  ;  for  we 
scarcely  ever  find  the  affair  alluded  to,  except  in  term  of  con- 
tempt,  by  the  title  Aufkldrerei  (Illuminationism)  ;  and  its 
partisans,  in  subsequent  satirical  controversies,  received  the 
nickname  of  Philistern  (Philistines)  which  the  few  scattered 
remnants  of  them  still  bear,  both  in  writing  and  speech. 
Poetry  arose  again,  and  in  a  new  and  singular  shape.  The 
Sorrows  of  Werter,  G'Otz  von  Berlichingen,  and  the  Robbers, 
may  stand  as  patriarchs  and  representatives  of  three  separate 
classes,  which,  commingled  in  various  proportions,  or  sepa- 
rately coexisting,  now  with  the  preponderance  of  this,  now  of 
that,  occupied  the  whole  popular  literature  of  Germany  till 
near  the  end  of  the  last  century.  These  were  the  Sentimen- 
talists, the  Chivalry-play  writers,  and  other  gorgeous  and  out- 
rageous persons  ;  as  a  whole,  now  pleasantly  denominated  the 
Kraftmnnner,  literally,  Power-men.  They  dealt  in  sceptical 
lamentation,  mysterious  enthusiasm,  frenzy  and  suicide  :  they 
recurred  with  fondness  to  the  Feudal  Ages,  delineating  many 
a  battlemented  keep,  and  swart  buff-belted  man-at-arms ;  for 
in  reflection,  as  in  action,  they  studied  to  be  strong,  vehement, 
rapidly  effective  ;  of  battle-tumult,  love-madness,  heroism  and 
despair,  there  was  no  end.  This  literary  period  is  called  the 
Sturm-  und  Drang-Zeit,  the  Storm-  and  Stress-Period  ;  for 
great  indeed  was  the  woe  and  fury  of  these  Power-men. 
Beauty,  to  their  mind,  seemed  synonymous  with  Strength. 
All  passion  was  poetical,  so  it  were  but  fierce  enough.  Their 
head  moral  virtue  was  pride  ;  their  beau  ideal  of  manhood  was 
some  transcript  of  Milton's  Devil.  Often  they  inverted  Boling- 
broke's  plan,  and  instead  of  '  patronising  Providence,'  did  di  - 
rectly  the  opposite  ;  raging  with  extreme  animation  against 


STATE  OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE.  73 

Fate  in  general,  because  it  enthralled  free  virtue  ;  and  with 
clenched  hands,  or  sounding  shields,  hurling  defiance  towards 
the  vault  of  heaven. 

These  Power-men  are  gone  too  ;  and,  with  few  exceptions, 
save  the  three  originals  above  named,  their  works  have  al- 
ready followed  them.  The  application  of  all  this  to  our  own 
literature  is  too  obvious  to  require  much  exposition.  Have 
not  we  also  had  our  Power-men  ?  And  will  not,  as  in  Ger- 
many, to  us  likewise  a  milder,  a  clearer,  and  a  truer  time  come 
round  ?  Our  Byron  was  in  his  youth  but  what  Schiller  and 
Goethe  had  been  in  theirs :  yet  the  author  of  Werter  wrote 
Iphujenie  and  Torquato  Tasso  /  and  he  who  began  with  the 
Robbers  ended  with  Wilhelm  Tell.  With  longer  life,  all  things 
were  to  have  been  hoped  for  from  Byron  :  for  he  loved  truth  in 
his  inmost  heart,  and  would  have  discovered  at  last  that  his 
Corsairs  and  Harolds  were  not  true.  It  was  otherwise  ap- 
pointed. But  with  one  man  all  hope  does  not  die.  If  this 
way  is  the  right  one,  we  too  shall  find  it.  The  poetry  of 
Germany,  meanwhile,  we  cannot  but  regard  as  well  deserving 
to  be  studied,  in  this  as  in  other  points  of  view ;  it  is  dis- 
tinctly an  advance  beyond  any  other  known  to  us ;  whether 
on  the  right  path  or  not,  may  be  still  uncertain  ;  but  a  path 
selected  by  Schillers  and  Goethes,  and  vindicated  by  Schle- 
gels  and  Tiecks,  is  surely  worth  serious  examination.  For 
the  rest,  need  we  add  that  it  is  study  for  self-instruction,  no- 
wise for  purposes  of  imitation,  that  wTe  recommend  ?  Among 
the  deadliest  of  poetical  sins  is  imitation  ;  for  if  every  man 
must  have  his  own  way  of  thought,  and  his  own  way  of  ex- 
pressing it,  much  more  every  nation.  But  of  danger  on  that 
side,  in  the  country  of  Shakspeare  and  Milton,  there  seems 
little  to  be  feared. 

We  come  now  to  the  second  grand  objection  against  Ger- 
man literature,  its  Mysticism.  In  treating  of  a  subject  itself  so 
vague  and  dim,  it  were  well  if  we  tried,  in  the  first  place,  to 
settle,  with  more  accuracy,  what  each  of  the  two  contending 
parties  really  means  to  say  or  to  contradict  regarding  it. 
Mysticism  is  a  word  in  the  mouths  of  all  :  yet,  of  the  hundred, 


74  STATE   OF   GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

perhaps  not  one  lias  ever  asked  himself  what  this  opprobrious 
epithet  properly  signified  in  his  mind  ;  or  where  the  bound- 
ary between  true  science  and  this  Land  of  Chimeras  was  to 
be  laid  down.  Examined  strictly,  mystical,  in  most  cases, 
will  turn  out  to  be  merely  synonymous  with  not  understood. 
Yet  surely  there  may  be  haste  and  oversight  here  ;  for  it  is 
well  known,  that,  to  the  understanding  of  anything,  two  con- 
ditions are  equally  required  ;  intelligibility  in  the  thing*  itself ' 
being  no  whit  more  indispensable  than  intelligence  in  the  ex- 
aminer of  it.  "I  am  bound  to  find  you  in  reasons,  Sir," 
said  Johnson,  "  but  not  in  brains  ; "  a  speech  of  the  most 
shocking  unpoliteness,  yet  truly  enough  expressing  the  state 
of  the  case. 

It  may  throw  some  light  on  this  question,  if  we  remind  our 
readers  of  the  following  fact.  In  the  field  of  human  investi- 
gation there  are  objects  of  two  sorts :  First,  the  visible,  in- 
cluding not  only  such  as  are  material,  and  may  be  seen  by 
the  bodily  eye  ;  but  all  such,  likewise,  as  may  be  represented 
in  a  shape,  before  the  mind's  eye,  or  in  any  way  pictured 
there  :  And,  secondly,  the  invisible,  or  such  as  are  not  only 
unseen  by  human  eyes,  but  as  cannot  be  seen  by  any  eye  ; 
not  objects  of  sense  at  all ;  not  capable,  in  short,  of  being 
pictured  or  imaged  in  the  mind,  or  in  any  way  represented 
by  a  shai^e  either  without  the  mind  or  within  it.  If  any  man 
shall  here  turn  upon  us,  and  assert  that  there  are  no  such  in- 
visible objects  ;  that  whatever  cannot  be  so  pictured  or  imag- 
ined (meaning  imaged)  is  nothing,  and  the  science  that  relates 
to  it  nothing ;  we  shall  regret  the  circumstance.  We  shall 
request  him,  however,  to  consider  seriously  and  deeply  within 
himself,  what  he  means  simply  by  these  two  wrords,  God  and 
his  own  Soul  ;  and  whether  he  finds  that  visible  shape  and 
true  existence  are  here  also  one  and  the  same  ?  If  he  still 
persist  in  denial,  we  have  nothing  for  it,  but  to  wish  him 
good  speed  on  his  own  separate  path  of  inquiry  ;  and  he  and 
we  will  agree  to  differ  on  this  subject  of  mysticism,  as  on  so 
many  more  important  ones. 

Now,  whoever  has  a  material  and  visible  object  to  treat,  be 
it  of  natural  Science,  Political  Philosophy,  or  any  such  exter- 


STATE  OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE.  75 

naliy  and  sensibly  existing  department,  may  represent  it  to 
his  own  mind,  and  convey  it  to  the  minds  of  others,  as  it  were, 
by  a  direct  diagram,  more  complex  indeed  than  a  geometri- 
*  cal  diagram,  but  still  with  the  same  sort  of  precision  ;  and, 
provided  his  diagram  be  complete,  and  the  same  both  to  him- 
self and  his  reader,  he  may  reason  of  it,  and  discuss  it,  with 
the  clearness,  and,  in  some  sort,  the  certainty  of  geometry 
itself.  If  he  do  not  so  reason  of  it,  this  must  be  for  want  of 
comprehension  to  image  out  the  ichole  of  it,  or  of  distinctness 
to  convey  the  same  whole  to  his  reader :  the  diagrams  of  the 
two  are  different ;  the  conclusions  of  the  one  diverge  from 
those  of  the  other,  and  the  obscurity  here,  provided  the  reader 
be  a  man  of  sound  judgment  and  due  attentiveness,  results 
from  incapacity  on  the  part  of  the  writer.  In  such  a  case, 
the  latter  is  justly  regarded  as  a  man  of  imperfect  intellect ; 
he  grasps  more  than  he  can  carry  ;  he  confuses  what,  with 
ordinary  faculty,  might  be  rendered  clear  ;  he  is  not  a  mys- 
tic, but,  what  is  much  worse,  a  dunce.  Another  matter  it  is, 
however,  when  the  object  to  be  treated  of  belongs  to  the  in- 
visible and  immaterial  class  ;  cannot  be  pictured  out  even 
by  the  writer  himself,  much  less,  in  ordinary  symbols,  set  be- 
fore the  reader.  In  this  case,  it  is  evident,  the  difficulties  of 
comprehension  are  increased  an  hundred-fold.  Here  it  will 
require  long,  patient  and  skilful  effort,  both  from  the  writer 
and  the  reader,  before  the  two  can  so  much  as  speak  together  ; 
before  the  former  can  make  known  to  the  latter,  not  how  the 
matter  stands,  but  even  what  the  matter  is,  which  they  have 
to  investigate  in  concert.  He  must  devise  new  means  of  ex- 
planation, describe  conditions  of  mind  in  which  this  invisible 
idea  arises,  the  false  persuasions  that  eclipse  it,  the  false 
shows  that  may  be  mistaken  for  it,  the  glimpses  of  it  that 
appear  elsewhere  ;  in  short,  strive,  by  a  thousand  well-devised 
methods,  to  guide  his  reader  up  to  the  perception  of  it ;  in 
all  which,  moreover,  the  reader  must  faithfully  and  toilsomely 
cooperate  with  him,  if  any  fruit  is  to  come  of  their  mutual 
endeavour.  Should  the  latter  take  up  his  ground  too  early, 
and  affirm  to  himself  that  now  he  has  seized  what  he  still  has 
not  seized  ;  that  this  and  nothing  else  is  the  thing  aimed  at 


70  STATE  OF   GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

by  his  teacher,  the  consequences  are  plain  enough  :  disunion, 
darkness  and  contradiction  between  the  two  ;  the  writer  has 
written  for  another  man,  and  this  reader,  after  long  provoca- 
tion, quarrels  with  him  finally,  and  quits  him  as  a  mystic. 

Nevertheless,  after  all  these  limitations,  we  shall  not  hesi- 
tate to  admit,  that  there  is  in  the  German  mind  a  tendency  to 
mysticism,  properly  so  called  ;  as  perhaps  there  is,  unless 
carefully  guarded  against,  in  all  minds  tempered  like  theirs. 
It  is  a  fault  ;  but  one  hardly  separable  from  the  excellences 
we  admire  most  in  them.  A  simple,  tender  and  devout  na- 
ture, seized  by  some  touch  of  divine  Truth,  and  of  this  per- 
haps under  some  rude  enough  symbol,  is  rapt  with  it  into  a 
whirlwind  of  unutterable  thoughts  ;  wild  gleams  of  splendour 
dart  to  and  fro  in  the  eye  of  the  seer,  but  the  vision  will  not 
abide  with  him,  and  yet  he  feels  that  its  light  is  light  from 
heaven,  and  precious  to  him  beyond  all  price.  A  simple  na- 
ture, a  George  Fox,  or  a  Jacob  Bohme,  ignorant  of  all  the 
ways  of  men,  of  the  dialect  in  which  they  speak,  or  the  forms 
by  which  they  think,  is  labouring  with  a  poetic,  a  religious 
idea,  which,  like  all  such  ideas,  must  express  itself  by  word 
and  act,  or  consume  the  heart  it  dwells  in.  Yet  how  shall  he 
speak  ;  how  shall  he  pour  forth  into  other  souls  that  of  which 
his  own  soul  is  full  even  to  bursting  ?  He  cannot  speak  to 
us  ;  he  knows  not  our  state,  and  cannot  make  known  to  us 
his  own.  His  words  are  an  inexplicable  rhapsody,  a  speech 
in  an  unknown  tongue.  Whether  there  is  meaning  in  it  to 
the  speaker  himself,  and  how  much  or  how  true,  we  shall 
never  ascertain  ;  for  it  is  not  in  the  language  of  men,  but  of 
one  man  who  had  not  learned  the  language  of  men  ;  and, 
with  himself,  the  key  to  its  full  interpretation  was  lost  from 
amongst  us.  These  are  mystics ;  men  who  either  know  not 
clearly  their  own  meaning,  or  at  least  cannot  put  it  forth  in 
formulas  of  thought,  whereby  others,  with  whatever  difficulty, 
may  apprehend  it.  Was  their  meaning  clear  to  themselves, 
gleams  of  it  will  yet  shine  through,  how  ignorantly  and  un- 
consciously soever  it  may  have  been  delivered  ;  was  it  still 
wavering  and  obscure,  no  science  could  have  delivered  it 
wisely.     In  either  case,  much  more  in  the  last,  they  merit 


STATE  OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE.  77 

and  obtaio  the  name  of  mystics.  To  scoffers  they  are  a 
ready  and  cheap  prey  ;  bnt  sober  persons  understand  that 
pure  evil  is  as  unknown  in  this  lower  Universe  as  pure  good  ; 
and  that  even  in  mystics,  of  an  honest  and  deep-feeling  heart, 
there  may  be  much  to  reverence,  and  of  the  rest  more  to  pity 
than  to  mock. 

But  it  is  not  to  ajjologise  for  Bohme,  or  Novalis,  or  the 
school  of  Theosophus  and  Flood,  that  we  have  here  under- 
taken. Neither  is  it  on  such  persons  that  the  charge  of  mys- 
ticism brought  against  the  Germans  mainly  rests.  Buhme  is 
little  known  among  us  ;  Novalis,  much  as  he  deserves  know- 
ing, not  at  all ;  nor  is  it  understood,  that,  in  their  own  coun- 
try, these  men  rank  higher  than  they  do,  or  might  do,  with 
ourselves.  The  chief  mystics  in  Germany,  it  would  appear, 
are  the  Transcendental  Philosophers,  Kant  Fichte,  and 
Schelling  !  With  these  is  the  chosen  seat  of  mysticism,  these 
are  its  '  tenebrific  constellation,'  from  which  it  '  doth  ray  out 
darkness '  over  the  earth.  Among  a  certain  class  of  thinkers, 
does  a  frantic  exaggeration  in  sentiment,  a  crude  fever-dream 
in  opinion,  anywhere  break  forth,  it  is  directly  labelled  as 
Kantism  ;  and  the  moon- struck  speculator  is,  for  the  time, 
silenced  and  put  to  shame  by  this  epithet.  For  often,  in 
such  circles,  Kant's  Philosophy  is  not  only  an  absurdity,  but 
a  wickedness  and  a  horror  ;  the  pious  and  peaceful  sage  of 
Konigsberg  passes  for  a  sort  of  Necromancer  and  Black-artist 
in  Metaphysics  ;  his  doctrine  is  a  region  of  boundless  baleful 
gloom,  too  cunningly  broken  here  and  there  by  splendours  of 
unholy  fire  ;  spectres  and  tempting  demons  people  it,  and, 
hovering  over  fathomless  abysses,  hang  gay  and  gorgeous  air- 
castles,  into  which  the  hapless  traveller  is  seduced  to  enter, 
and  so  sinks  to  rise  no  more. 

If  anything  in  the  history  of  Philosophy  could  surprise  us, 
it  might  well  be  this.  Perhaps  among  all  the  metaplrysical 
writers  of  the  eighteenth  century,  including  Hume  and 
Hartley  themselves,  there  is  not  one  that  so  ill  meets  the 
conditions  of  a  mystic  as  this  same  Immanuel  Kant.  A  quiet, 
vigilant,  clear-sighted  man,  who  had  become  distinguished  to 
the  world  in  mathematics  before  he  attempted  philosophy  ; 


7S  STATE  OF   GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

who,  in  his  writings  generally,  on  this  and  other  subjects,  is 
perhaps  characterised  by  no  quality  so  much  as  precisely  by 
the  distinctness  of  his  conceptions,  and  the  sequence  and  iron 
strictness  with  which  he  reasons.  To  our  own  minds,  in  the 
little  that  we  know  of  him,  he  has  more  than  once  recalled 
Father  Boscovich  in  Natural  Philosophy  ;  so  piercing,  yet  so 
sure  ;  so  concise,  so  still,  so  simple  ;  with  such  clearness  and 
composure  does  he  mould  the  complicacy  of  his  subject ;  and 
so  firm,  sharp  and  definite  are  the  results  he  evolves  from  it.1 
Right  or  wrong  as  his  hypothesis  may  be,  no  one  that  knows 
him  will  suspect  that  he  himself  had  not  seen  it,  and  seen 
over  it ;  had  not  meditated  it  with  calmness  and  deep 
thought,  and  studied  throughout  to  expound  it  with  scientific 
rigour.  Neither,  as  we  often  hear,  is  there  any  superhuman 
faculty  required  to  follow  him.  We  venture  to  assure  such 
of  our  readers  as  are  in  any  measure  used  to  metaphysical 
study,  that  the  Kritik  der  reinen  Vernunft  is  by  no  means  the 
hardest  task  they  liave  tried.  It  is  true,  there  is  an  unknown 
and  forbidding  terminology  to  be  mastered  ;  but  is  not  this 
the  case  also  with  Chemistry,  and  Astronomy,  and  all  other 
sciences  that  deserve  the  name  of  science  ?  It  is  true,  a  care- 
less or  unprepared  reader  will  find  Kant's  writing  a  riddle  ; 
but  will  a  reader  of  this  sort  made  much  of  Newton's  Prin- 
cipia,  or  D'Alembert's  Calculus  of  Variations?  lie  will  make 
nothing  of  them  ;  perhaps  less  than  nothing  ;  for  if  he  trust 
to  his  own  judgment,  he  will  pronounce  them  madness.  Yet 
if  the  Philosophy  of  Mind  is  any  philosophy  at  all,  Physics 
and  Mathematics  must  be  plain  subjects  compared  with  it. 
But  these  latter  are  happy,  not  only  in  the  fixedness  and  sim- 
plicity of  their  methods,  but  also  in  the  universal  acknowl- 
edgment of  their  claim  to  that  prior  and  continual  intensity 
of  application,  without  which  all  progress  in  any  science  is  im- 
possible ;  though  more  than  one  may  be  attempted  without 
it  ;  and  blamed,  because  without  it  they  will  yield  no  result. 

1  We  have  heard  that  the  Latin  Translation  of  his  Works  is  unintel- 
ligible, the  Translator  himself  not  having  understood  it ;  also  that 
Villers  is  no  safe  guide  in  the  study  of  him.  Neither  Villers  nor  those 
Latin  Works  arc  known  to  us. 


STATE   OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE.  TO 

The  truth  is,  German  Philosophy  differs  not  more  widely 
from  ours  in  the  substance  of  its  doctrines,  than  in  its  manner 
of  communicating  them.  The  class  of  disquisitions,  named 
Kamin-Philosophie  (Parlour-fire  Philosophy)  in  Germany,  is 
held  in  little  estimation  there.  No  right  treatise  on  anything, 
it  is  believed,  least  of  all  on  the  nature  of  the  human  mind, 
can  be  profitably  read,  unless  the  reader  himself  co-operates : 
the  blessing  of  half-sleep  in  such  cases  is  denied  him  ;  ho 
must  be  alert,  and  strain  every  faculty,  or  it  profits  nothing. 
Philosophy,  with  these  men,  pretends  to  be  a  Science,  nay  the 
living  principle  and  soul  of  all  Sciences,  and  must  be  treated 
and  studied  scientifically,  or  not  studied  and  treated  at  all. 
Its  doctrines  should  be  present  with  every  cultivated  writer  ; 
its  spirit  should  pervade  every  piece  of  composition,  how 
slight  or  popular  soever  :  but  to  treat  itself  popularly  would 
be  a  degradation  and  an  impossibility.  Philosophy  dwells 
aloft  in  the  Temple  of  Science,  the  divinity  of  its  inmost 
shrine  ;  her  dictates  descend  among  men,  but  she  herself 
descends  not ;  whoso  would  behold  her,  must  climb  with  long 
and  laborious  effort ;  nay  still  linger  in  the  forecourt,  till 
manifold  trial  have  proved  him  worthy  of  admission  into  the 
interior  solemnities. 

It  is  the  false  notion  prevalent  respecting  the  objects  aimed 
at,  and  the  purposed  manner  of  attaining  them,  in  German 
Philosophy,  that  causes,  in  great  part,  this  disappointment  of 
our  attempts  to  study  it,  and  the  evil  report  which  the  disap- 
pointed naturally  enough  bring  back  with  them.  Let  the 
reader  believe  us,  the  Critical  Philosophers,  whatever  they 
may  be,  are  no  mystics,  and  have  no  fellowship  with  mystics. 
What  a  mystic  is,  we  have  said  above.  But  Kant,  Fichte,  and 
Schelling,  are  men  of  cool  judgment,  and  determinate  ener- 
getic character  ;  men  of  science  and  profound  and  universal 
investigation  ;  nowhere  does  the  world,  in  all  its  bearings, 
spiritual  or  material,  theoretic  or  practical,  lie  pictured  in 
clearer  or  truer  colours  than  in  such  heads  as  these.  We 
have  heard  Kant  estimated  as  a  spiritual  brother  of  Bohme : 
as  justly  might  we  take  Sir  Isaac  Newton  for  a  spiritual 
brother  of  Baron  Swedenborg,  and  Laplace's  Mechanism  of 


80  STATE   OF   GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

the  Heavens  for  a  peristyle  to  the  Vision  of  the  New  Jerusalem. 
That  this  is  no  extravagant  comparison,  we  appeal  to  any 
man  acquaiDted  with  any  single  volume  of  Kant's  writings. 
Neither,  though  Schelling's  system  differs  still  more  widely 
from  ours,  can  we  reckon  Schelling  a  mystic.  He  is  a  man 
evidently  of  deep  insight  into  individual  things ;  speaks 
wisely,  and  reasons  with  the  nicest  accuracy,  on  all  matters 
where  we  understand  his  data.  Fairer  might  it  be  in  us  to 
say  that  we  had  not  yet  appreciated  his  truth,  and  therefore 
could  not  appreciate  his  error.  But  above  all,  the  mysticism 
of  Fichte  might  astonish  us.  The  cold,  colossal,  adamantine 
sjm'it,  standing  erect  and  clear,  like  a  Cato  Major  among  de- 
generate men ;  fit  to  have  been  the  teacher  of  the  Stoa,  and 
to  have  discoursed  of  Beauty  and  Virtue  in  the  groves  of 
Academe  !  Our  reader  has  seen  some  words  of  Fichte's  :  are 
these  like  words  of  a  mystic  ?  We  state  Fichte's  character, 
as  it  is  known  and  admitted  by  men  of  all  parties  among  the 
Germans,  when  we  say  that  so  robust  an  intellect,  a  soul  so 
calm,  so  lofty,  massive  and  immovable,  has  not  mingled  in 
philosophical  discussion  since  the  time  of  Luther.  We  fig- 
ure his  motionless  look,  had  he  heard  this  charge  of  mys- 
ticism !  For  the  man  rises  before  us,  amid  contradiction  and 
debate,  like  a  granite  mountain  amid  clouds  and  wind.  Bidi- 
cule,  of  the  best  that  could  be  commanded,  has  been  already 
tried  against  him  ;  but  it  could  not  avail.  What  was  the  wit 
of  a  thousand  wits  to  him  ?  The  cry  of  a  thousand  choughs 
assaulting  that  old  cliff  of  granite  :  seen  from  the  summit, 
these,  as  they  winged  the  midway  air,  showed  scarce  so  gross 
as  beetles,  and  their  cry  was  seldom  even  audible.  Fichte's 
opinions  may  be  true  or  false ;  but  his  character,  as  a 
thinker,  can  be  slightly  valued  only  by  such  as  know  it  ill ; 
and  as  a  man,  approved  by  action  and  suffering,  in  his  life 
and  in  his  death,  he  ranks  with  a  class  of  men  who  were  com- 
mon only  in  better  ages  than  ours. 

The  Critical  Philosophy  has  been  regarded  by  persons  of 
approved  judgment,  and  nowise  directly  implicated  in  the 
furthering  of  it,  as  distinctly  the  greatest  intellectual  achieve- 
ment of  the  century  in  which  it  came  to  light.     August  Wil- 


STATE  OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE.  81 

helm  Schlegel  has  stated  in  plain  terms  his  belief,  that,  in  re- 
spect of  its  probable  influence  on  the  moral  culture  of  Europe, 
it  stands  on  a  line  with  the  Reformation.  We  mention  Schle- 
gel  as  a  man  whose  opinion  has  a  known  value  among  our- 
selves. But  the  worth  of  Kant's  philosophy  is  not  to  be 
gathered  from  votes  alone.  The  noble  system  of  morality, 
the  purer  theology,  the  lofty  views  of  man's  nature  derived 
from  it ;  nay  perhaps  the  very  discussion  of  such  matters,  to 
which  it  gave  so  strong  an  impetus,  have  told  with  remark- 
able and  beneficial  influence  on  the  whole  spiritual  character 
of  Germany.  No  writer  of  any  importance  in  that  country, 
be  he  acquainted  or  not  with  the  Critical  Philosophy,  but 
breathes  a  spirit  of  devoutness  and  elevation  more  or  less 
directly  drawn  from  it.  Such  men  as  Goethe  and  Schiller 
cannot  exist  without  effect  in  an}7  literature  or  in  any  century : 
but  if  one  circumstance  more  than  another  has  contributed  to 
forward  their  endeavours,  and  introduce  that  higher  tone  into 
the  literature  of  Germany,  it  has  been  this  philosophical  sys- 
tem ;  to  which,  in  wisely  believing  its  results,  or  even  in 
wisely  denying  them,  all  that  was  lofty  and  pure  in  the  genius 
of  poetry,  or  the  reason  of  man,  so  readily  allied  itself. 

That  such  a  system  must,  in  the  end,  become  known  among 
ourselves,  as  it  is  already  becoming  known  in  France  and  Italy, 
and  over  all  Europe,  no  one  acquainted  in  any  measure  with 
the  character  of  this  matter,  and  the  character  of  England, 
will  hesitate  to  predict.  Doubtless  it  will  be  studied  here,  and 
by  heads  adequate  to  do  it  justice  ;  it  will  be  investigated  duly 
and  thoroughly  ;  and  settled  in  our  minds  on  the  footing 
which  belongs  to  it,  and  where  thenceforth  it  must  continue. 
Respecting  the  degrees  of  truth  and  error  which  will  then  be 
found  to  exist  in  Kant's  system,  or  in  the  modifications  it  has 
since  received,  and  is  still  receiving,  we  desire  to  be  under- 
stood as  making  no  estimate,  and  little  qualified  to  make  any. 
We  would  have  it  studied  and  known,  on  general  grounds  ; 
because  even  the  errors  of  such  men  are  instructive  ;  and  be- 
cause, without  a  large  admixture  of  truth,  no  error  can  exist 
under  such  combinations,  and  become  diffused  so  widely.  To 
judge  of  it  we  pretend  not  :  we  are  still  inquirers  in  the  mere 
G 


82  STATE   OF   GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

outskirts  of  the  matter  ;  and  it  is  but  inquiry  that  we  wish  to 
see  promoted. 

Meanwhile,  as  an  advance  or  first  step  towards  this,  we  may 
state  something  of  what  has  most  struck  ourselves  as  charac- 
terising Kant's  system  ;  as  distinguishing  it  from  every  other 
known  to  us  ;  and  chiefly  from  the  Metaphysical  Philosophy 
which  is  taught  in  Britain,  or  rather  which  was  taught ;  for, 
on  looking  round,  we  see  not  that  there  is  any  such  Philoso- 
phy in  existence  at  the  present  day.1  The  Kantist,  in  direct 
contradiction  to  Locke  and  all  his  followers,  both  of  the  French, 
and  English  or  Scotch  school,  commences  from  within,  and 
proceeds  outwards  ;  instead  of  commencing  from  without,  and, 
with  various  precautions  and  hesitations,  endeavouring  to  pro- 
ceed inwards.  The  ultimate  .aim  of  all  Philosophy  must  be 
to  interpret  appearances, — from  the  given  symbol  to  ascertain 
the  thing.  Now  the  first  step  towards  this,  the  aim  of  what 
may  be  called  Primary  or  Critical  Philosophy,  must  be  to  find 

1  The  name  of  Dugald  Stewart  is  a  name  venerable  to  all  Europe,  and 
to  none  more  dear  and  venerable  than  to  ourselves.  Nevertheless  his 
writings  are  not  a  Philosophy,  but  a  making  ready  for  one.  He  does 
not  enter  on  the  field  to  till  it ;  he  only  encompasses  it  with  fences,  in- 
vites cultivators,  and  drives  away  intruders :  often  (fallen  on  evil  days) 
he  is  reduced  to  long  arguments  with  the  passers-by,  to  prove  that  it  is  a 
field,  that  this  so  highly  prized  domain  of  his  is,  in  truth,  soil  and  sub- 
stance, not  clouds  and  shadow.  We  regard  his  discussions  on  the  nature 
of  Philosophic  Language,  and  his  unwearied  efforts  to  set  forth  and 
guard  against  its  fallacies,  as  worthy  of  all  acknowledgment  ;  as  indeed 
forming  the  greatest,  perhaps  the  only  true  improvement,  which  Phi- 
losophy has  received  among  us  in  our  age.  It  is  only  to  a  superficial  ob- 
server that  the  import  of  these  discussions  can  seem  trivial  ;  rightly 
understood,  they  give  sufficient  and  final  answer  to  Hartley's  and  Dar- 
win's, and  all  other  possible  forms  of  Materialism,  the  grand  Idolatry, 
as  we  may  rightly  call  it,  by  which,  in  all  times,  the  true  Worship,  that 
of  the  Invisible,  has  been  polluted  and  withstood.  Mr.  Stewart  has 
written  warmly  against  Kant ;  but  it  would  surprise  him  to  find  how 
much  of  a  Kantist  he  himself  essentially  is.  Has  not  the  whole  scope 
of  his  labours  been  to  reconcile  what  a  Kantist  would  call  his  Under- 
standing with  his  Reason  ;  a  noble,  but  still  too  fruitless  effort  to  overarch 
the  chasm  which,  for  all  minds  but  his  own,  separates  his  Science  from 
his  Religion  V  We  regard  the  assiduous  study  of  his  Works  as  the  best 
preparation  for  studying  those  of  Kant. 


STATE  OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE.  S3 

some   indubitable   principle ;   to  fix  ourselves  on    some  un- 
changeable basis  ;  to  discover  what  the  Germans  call  the  Ur- 
wahr,  the    Primitive    Truth,  the    necessarily,  absolutely  and 
eternally  True.     This  necessarily  True,  this  absolute  basis  of 
Truth,  Locke  silently,  and  Eeid  and  his  followers  with  more 
tumult,  find  in  a  certain  modified  Experience,  and  evidence  of 
Sense,  in  the  universal  and  natural  persuasion  of  all  men. 
Not  so  the  Germans  :  they  deny  that  there  is  here  any  abso- 
lute Truth,  or  that  any  Philosophy  whatever  can  be  built  on 
such  a  basis  ;  nay,  they  go  to  the  length  of  asserting,  that 
such  an  appeal  even  to  the  universal  persuasions  of  mankind, 
gather  them  with  what  precautions  you  may,  amounts  to  a 
total  abdication  of  Philosophy,  strictly  so  called,  and  renders 
not  only  its  farther  progress,  but  its  very  existence,  impossible. 
"What,  they  would  say,  have  the  persuasions,  or  instinctive  be- 
liefs, or  whatever  they  are  called,  of  men,  to  do  in  this  mat- 
ter?    Is  it  not  the  object  of  Philosophy  to  enlighten,  and  rec- 
tify, and  many  times  directly  contradict  these  very  beliefs  ? 
Take,  for  instance,  the  voice  of  all  generations  of  men  on  the 
subject  of  Astronomy.     Will  there,  out  of  any  age  or  climate, 
be  one  dissentient  against  the  fact  of  the  Sun's  going  round 
the  Earth  ?     Can  any  evidence  be  clearer ;  is  there  any  per- 
suasion more  universal,  any  belief   more  instinctive  ?     And 
yet  the  San  moves  no  hairsbreadth  ;  but  stands  in  the  centre 
of  his  Planets,  let  us  vote  as  we  please.     So  is  it  likewise  with 
our  evidence  for  an  external  independent  existence  of  Matter, 
and,  in  general,  with  our  whole  argument  against  Hume  ; 
whose  reasonings,  from  the  premises  admitted  both  by  him 
and  us,  the  Germans  affirm  to  be  rigorously  consistent  and 
legitimate,  and,  on  these  premises,  altogether  uncontroverted 
and  incontrovertible.     British  Philosophy,  since  the  time  of 
Hume,  appears  to  them  nothing  more  than  a  '  laborious  and 
'  unsuccessful  striving  to  build  dike  after  dike  in  front  of  our 
'  Churches  and  Judgment-halls,  and  so  turn  back  from  them 
'  the   deluge  of   Scepticism,   with  which   that   extraordinary 
'  writer  overflowed  us,  and  still  threatens  to  destroy  whatever 
'  we  value  most,'     This  is  August  Wilhelm  Schlegel's  verdict ; 
given  in  words  equivalent  to  these. 


84:  STATE  OF   GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

The  Germans  take  up  the  matter  differently,  and  would 
assail  Hume,  not  in  his  outworks,  but  in  the  centre  of  his 
citadel.  They  deny  his  first  principle,  that  Sense  is  the  only 
inlet  of  Knowledge,  that  Experience  is  the  primary  ground 
of  Belief.  Their  Primitive  Truth,  however,  they  seek,  not 
historically  and  by  experiment,  in  the  universal  persuasions 
of  men,  but  by  intuition,  in  the  deepest  and  purest  nature  of 
Man.  Instead  of  attempting,  which  they  consider  vain,  to 
prove  the  existence  of  God,  Virtue,  an  immaterial  Soul,  by 
inferences  drawn,  as  the  conclusion  of  all  Philosophy,  from 
the  world  of  Sense,  they  find  these  things  written  as  the 
beginning  of  all  Philosophy,  in  obscured  but  ineffaceable 
characters,  within  our  inmost  being  ;  and  themselves  first 
affording  any  certainty  and  clear  meaning  to  that  very  world 
of  Sense,  by  which  we  endeavour  to  demonstrate  them.  God 
is,  nay  alone  is,  for  with  like  emphasis  we  cannot  say  that 
anything  else  is.  This  is  the  Absolute,  the  Primitively  True, 
which  the  philosopher  seeks.  Endeavouring,  by  logical  ar- 
gument, to  prove  the  existence  of  God,  a  Kantist  might  say, 
would  be  like  taking  out  a  candle  to  look  for  the  sun ;  nay, 
gaze  steadily  into  your  candle-light,  and  the  sun  himself  may 
be  invisible.  To  open  the  inward  eye  to  the  sight  of  this 
Primitively  True  ;  or  rather  we  might  call  it,  to  clear  off  the 
Obscurations  of  Sense,  which  eclipse  this  truth  within  us, 
so  that  we  may  see  it,  and  believe  it  not  only  to  be  true,  but 
the  foundation  and  essence  of  all  other  truth, — may,  in  such 
language  as  we  are  here  using,  be  said  to  be  the  problem  of 
Critical  Philosophy. 

In  this  point  of  view,  Kant's  system  may  be  thought  to 
have  a  remote  affinity  to  those  of  Malebranche  and  Descartes. 
But  if  they  in  some  measure  agree  as  to  their  aim,  there  is 
the  widest  difference  as  to  the  means.  We  state  what  to  our- 
selves has  long  appeared  the  grand  characteristic  of  Kant's 
Philosophy,  when  we  mention  his  distinction,  seldom  perhaps 
expressed  so  broadly,  but  uniformly  implied,  between  Under- 
standing and  Reason  ( Verstand  and  Vernunft).  To  most  of 
our  readers  this  may  seem  a  distinction  without  a  difference  : 
nevertheless,  to  the  Kantists  it  is  by  no  means  such.     They 


STATE  OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE.  85 

believe  that  both  Understanding  and  Reason  are  organs,  or 
rather,  Ave  should  say,  modes  of  operation,  by  which  the 
mind  discovers  truth  ;  but  they  think  that  their  manner  of 
proceeding  is  essentially  different  ;  that  their  provinces  are 
separable  and  distinguishable,  nay  that  it  is  of  the  last 
importance  to  separate  and  distinguish  them.  Reason,  the 
Kantists  say,  is  of  a  higher  nature  than  Understanding  ;  i" 
works  by  more  subtle  methods,  on  higher  objects,  and  re- 
quires a  far  finer  culture  for  its  development,  indeed  in  many 
men  it  is  never  developed  at  all ;  but  its  results  are  no  less 
certain,  nay  rather,  they  are  much  more  so  ;  for  Reason  dis- 
cerns Truth  itself,  the  absolutely  and  primitively  True ;  while 
Understanding  discerns  only  relations,  and  cannot  decide  with- 
out if.  The  proper  province  of  Understanding  is  all,  strictly 
speaking,  real,  practical  and  material  knowledge,  Mathematics, 
Physics,  Political  Economy,  the  adaptation  of  means  to  ends 
in  the  whole  business  of  life.  In  this  province  it  is  the 
strength  and  universal  implement  of  the  mind  :  an  indispen- 
sable servant,  without  which,  indeed,  existence  itself  would 
be  impossible.  Let  it  not  step  beyond  this  province,  how- 
ever ;  not  usurp  the  province  of  Reason,  which  it  is  arrpointed 
to  obey,  and  cannot  rule  over  without  ruin  to  the  whole  spir- 
itual man.  Should  Understanding  attempt  to  prove  the  ex- 
istence of  God,  it  ends,  if  thorough-going  and  consistent  with 
itself,  in  Atheism,  or  a  faint  possible  Theism,  which  scarcely 
differs  from  this  :  should  it  speculate  of  Virtue,  it  ends  in 
Utility,  making  Prudence  and  a  sufficiently  cunning  love  of 
Self  the  highest  good.  Consult  Understanding  about  the 
Beauty  of  Poetry,  and  it  asks,  Where  is  this  Beauty?  or  dis- 
covers it  at  length  in  rhythms  and  fitnesses,  and  male  and 
female  rhymes.  Witness  also  its  everlasting  paradoxes  on 
Necessity  and  the  Freedom  of  the  Will ;  its  ominous  silence 
on  the  end  and  meaning  of  man  ;  and  the  enigma  which, 
under  such  inspection,  the  whole  purport  of  existence  be- 
comes. 

Nevertheless,  say  the  Kantists,  there  is  a  truth  in  these 
things.  Virtue  is  Virtue,  and  not  Prudence  ;  not  less  surely 
than  the  angle  in  a  semicircle  is  a  right  angle,  and  no  trape- 


86  STATE   OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

ziura  :  Skakspeare  is  a  Poet,  and  Boileau  is  none,  think  of  it 
as  you  may  :  neither  is  it  more  certain  that  I  myself  exist, 
than  that  God  exists,  infinite,  eternal,  invisible,  the  same  yes- 
terday, to-day  and  forever.  To  discern  these  truths  is  the 
province  of  Reason,  which  therefore  is  to  be  cultivated  as  the 
highest  faculty  in  man.  Not  by  logic  and  argument  does  it 
work  ;  yet  surely  and  clearly  may  it  be  taught  to  work  :  and 
its  domain  lies  in  that  higher  region  whither  logic  and  argu- 
ment cannot  reach  ;  in  that  holier  region,  where  Poetry,  and 
Virtue  and  Divinity  abide,  in  whose  presence  Understanding 
wavers  and  recoils,  dazzled  into  utter  darkness  by  that  '  sea 
of  light,'  at  once  the  fountain  and  the  termination  of  all  true 
knowledge. 

Will  the  Kantists  forgive  us  for  the  loose  and  popular  man- 
ner in  which  we  must  here  speak  of  these  things,  to  bring 
them  in  any  measure  before  the  eyes  of  our  readers  ? — It  may 
illustrate  the  distinction  still  farther,  if  we  say,  that,  in  the 
opinion  of  a  Kantist,  the  French  are  of  all  European  nations 
the  most  gifted  with  Understanding,  and  the  most  destitute 
of  Reason  ; '  that  David  Hume  had  no  forecast  of  this  latter, 
and  that  Shakspeare  and  Luther  dwelt  perennially  in  its 
purest  sphere. 

Of  the  vast,  nay  in  these  days  bouudless,  importance  of  this 
distinction,  could  it  be  scientifically  established,  we  need 
remind  no  thinking  man.  For  the  rest,  far  be  it  from  the 
reader  to  suppose  that  this  same  Reason  is  but  a  new  ajDpear- 
ance,  under  another  name,  of  our  own  old  '  Wholesome  Prej- 
udice,' so  well  known  to  most  of  us!  Prejudice,  wholesome 
or  unwholesome,  is  a  personage  for  whom  the  German  Phi- 
losophers disclaim  all  shadow  of  respect ;  nor  do  the  vehement 
among  them  hide  their  deep  disdain  for  all  and  sundry  who 
light  under  her  flag.  Truth  is  to  be  loved  purely  and  solely 
because  it  is  true.  With  moral,  political,  religious  considera- 
tions, high  and  dear  as  they  may  otherwise  be,  the  Philoso- 
pher, as  such,  has  no  concern.     To  look  at  them  would  but 

1  Schelling  has  said  as  much  or  more  {Methode  des  Academischen  Stu- 
dium,  pp.  105-111),  in  terms  which  vrr  could   wish  we   had  space   to 

transcribe. 


STATE   OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE.  87 

perpier  aim,  and  distract  his  vision  from  the  task  in  his 
h^nds.  Calmly  he  constructs  his  theorem,  as  the  Georr0'1'^ 
does  his,  without  hope  or  fear,  save  that  he  may  or  maj  101 
iind  the  solution  ;  and  stands  in  the  middle,  by  the  or  -  ».t 
nay  be,  accused  as  an  Infidel,  by  the  other  as  an  Enthusiast 
ao^  Mystic,  till  the  tumult  ceases,  and  what  was  true,  is  and 
continues  true  to  the  end  of  all  time. 

Such  are  some  of  the  high  and  momentous  questions 
treated  of,  by  calm,  earnest  and  deeply  meditative  men,  in 
this  system  of  Philosophy,  which  to  the  wiser  minds  among 
us  is  still  unknown,  and  by  the  unwiser  is  spoken  of  and  re- 
garded in  such  manner  as  we  see.  The  profoundness,  sub- 
tlety, extent  of  investigation,  which  the  answer  of  these  ques- 
tions presupposes,  need  not  be  farther  pointed  oat.  With 
the  truth  or  falsehood  of  the  system,  we  have  here,  as  already 
stated,  no  concern  :  our  aim  has  been,  so  far  as  might  be 
done,  to  show  it  as  it  appeared  to  us  ;  and  to  ask  such  of  our 
readers  as  pursue  these  studies,  whether  this  also  is  not  worthy 
of  some  study.     The  reply  we  must  now  leave  to  themselves. 

As  an  appendage  to  the  charge  of  Mysticism  brought 
against  the  Germans,  there  is  often  added  the  seemingly  in- 
congruous one  of  Irreligion.  On  this  point  also  we  had  much 
to  say  ;  but  must  for  the  present  decline  it.  Meanwhile,  let 
the  reader  be  assured,  that  to  the  charge  of  Irreligion,  as  to 
so  many  others,  the  Germans  will  plead  not  guilty.  On  the 
contrary,  they  will  not  scruple  to  assert  that  their  literature 
is,  in  a  positive  sense,  religious ;  nay,  perhaps  to  maintain, 
that  if  ever  neighbouring  nations  are  to  recover  that  pure  and 
high  spirit  of  devotion,  the  loss  of  which,  however  we  may 
disguise  it  or  pretend  to  overlook  it,  can  be  hidden  from  no 
observant  mind,  it  must  be  by  travelling,  if  not  on  the  same 
path,  at  least  in  the  same  direction,  in  which  the  Germans 
have  already  begun  to  travel.  We  shall  add,  that  the  Keligion 
of  Germany  is  a  subject  not  for  slight  but  for  deep  study,  and, 
if  we  mistake  not,  may  in  some  degree  reward  the  deepest. 

Here,  however,  we  must  close  our  examination  or  defence. 
We  have  spoken  freely,  because  we  felt  distinctly,  and  thought 


88  STATE  OF  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

the  matter  worthy  of  being  stated,  and  more  fully  inquired 
into.  Farther  than  this,  we  have  no  quarrel  for  the  Germans : 
we  would  have  justice  done  to  them,  as  to  all  men  and  all 
things  ;  but  for  their  literature  or  character  we  profess  no  sec- 
tarian or  exclusive  preference.  We  think  their  recent  Poetry, 
indeed,  superior  to  the  recent  Poetry  of  any  other  nation  ; 
but  taken  as  a  whole,  inferior  to  that  of  seveial ;  inferior  not 
to  our  own  only,  but  to  that  of  Italy,  nay  perhaps  to  that  of 
Spain.  Their  Philosophy  too  must  still  be  regarded  as  uncer- 
tain ;  at  best  only  the  beginning  of  better  things.  But  surely 
even  this  is  not  to  be  neglected.  A  little  light  is  precious  in 
great  darkness :  nor,  amid  the  myriads  of  Poetasters  and 
Philosopher,  are  Poets  and  Philosophers  so  numerous  that  we 
should  reject  such,  when  they  speak  to  us  in  the  hard,  but 
manly,  deep  and  expressive  tones  of  that  old  Saxon  speech, 
which  is  also  our  mother  tongue. 

We  confess,  the  present  aspect  of  spiritual  Europe  might 
fill  a  melancholic  observer  with  doubt  and  foreboding.  It  is 
mournful  to  see  so  many  noble,  tender  and  high-aspiring  minds 
deserted  of  that  religious  light  which  once  guided  all  such  : 
standing  sorrowful  on  the  scene  of  past  convulsions  and  con- 
troversies, as  on  a  scene  blackened  and  burnt-up  with  fire  ; 
mourning  in  the  darkness,  because  there  is  desolation,  and  no 
home  for  the  soul ;  or  what  is  worse,  pitching  tents  among 
the  ashes,  and  kindling  weak  earthly  lamps  which  we  are  to 
take  for  stars.  This  darkness  is  but  transitory  obscuration  : 
these  ashes  are  the  soil  of  future  herbage  and  richer  harvests. 
Religion,  Poetry,  is  not  dead  ;  it  will  never  die.  Its  dwelling 
and  birthplace  is  in  the  soul  of  man,  and  it  is  eternal  as  the 
being  of  man.  In  any  point  of  Space,  in  any  section  of  Time, 
lot  there  be  a  living  Man  ;  and  there  is  an  Infinitude  above 
him  and  beneath  him,  and  an  Eternity  encompasses  him  on 
this  hand  and  on  that ;  and  tones  of  Sphere-music,  and  tidings 
from  loftier  worlds,  will  flit  round  him,  if  he  can  but  listen, 
and  visit  him  with  holy  influences,  even  in  the  thickest  press 
of  trivialities,  or  the  din  of  busiest  life.  Happy  the  man,  happy 
the  nation  that  can  hear  these  tidings  ;  that  has  them  written 
in  fit  characters,  legible  to  every  eye,  and  the  solemn  import 


STATE]  OF   GERMAN  LITERATURE.  89 

of  them  present  at  all  moments  to  every  heart !  That  there 
is,  in  these  days,  no  nation  so  happy,  is  too  clear  ;  but  that  all 
nations,  and  ourselves  in  the  van,  are,  with  more  or  less  dis- 
cernment of  its  nature,  struggling  towards  this  happiness,  is 
the  hope  and  the  glory  of  our  time.  To  us,  as  to  others,  suc- 
cess, at  a  distant  or  a  nearer  day,  cannot  be  uncertain.  Mean- 
while, the  first  condition  of  success  is,  that,  in  striving  honestly 
ourselves,  we  honestly  acknowledge  the  striving  of  our  neigh- 
bour ;  that  with  a  Will  unwearied  in  seeking  Truth,  we  have 
a  Sense  open  for  it,  wheresoever  and  howsoever  it  may  arise. 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER. 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER. 

The  charm  of  '  fame. '  Werner's  tumultuous  career  indicative  of  much  in 
ohe  history  of  his  time.  (p.  93). — Hitzig's  Lives  of  Werner  and  Hoffmann. 
Werner's  birth  and  parentage  :  Early  connexion  with  the  theatre.  Left  at 
fourteen,  by  his  father's  death,  to  the  sole  charge  of  his  mother.  Her  hy- 
pochondria. Coincidences  of  Werner's  and  Hoffman's  early  circumstances. 
Werner's  dissolute  college-life,  and  desultory  strivings.  At  thirty  he  had 
already  divorced  two  wives,  and  was  looking  out  for  a  third  :  Unsteady  irra 
tional  hopes,  and  wild  enthusiasm  of  character.  (95). — His  early  writings  sin- 
gularly contrasted  with  his  later  :  His  French  scepticism  overlaid  with  won- 
drous theosophic  garniture.  High  colloquies  in  rather  questionable  fashion. 
His  drama  of  the  Suhne  des  Thais  :  Chiefly  interesting  as  containing  a  pict- 
ure of  himself.  Extracts,  in  which,  with  much  tumid  grandiloquence,  ho 
shadows  forth  his  own  creed  :  Scene,  Story  of  the  Fallen  Master,  Opinions 
and  practices  of  the  Templars.  Scene,  Robert  d'Heredon  on  Destiny  and  the 
Resurrection  of  the  body.  (98). — Some  account  of  the  Second  Part  of  the 
Sons  of  the  Valley  :  Scene,  Story  of  Phosphoros.  Werner's  dramatic  talent. 
His  prophetic  aspirations.  Self-forgetfulness  the  summary  of  his  moral  code  : 
His  strange  missionary  zeal.  (113). — He  marries  his  third  wife.  His  faithful 
care  and  affection  for  his  poor  mother  :  Her  death.  His  life  at  Warsaw  :  In- 
timacy with  Hoffmann.  His  Kreuz  an  cler  Ostsee  :  Not  suitable  for  the  Stage. 
His  drama  of  Martin  Luther,  oder  die  Weihe  der  Kraft.  His  portraiture  of 
Luther  :  Allegorical  superfluities,  and  general  insufficiency.  (126). — Dramatic 
popularity  :  Vortex  of  society  :  Divorced  from  his  third  Wife.  Strange  state 
of  marriage-law.  Bedouin  wanderings  :  Sees  Goethe,  Napoleon,  and  Madame 
de  Stael.  His  project  of  a  New  Religion  abandoned.  Detestation  of  modem 
Protestantism.  He  visits  Italy.  Spiritual  Exercitations :  Returns  to  the 
Catholic  Faith  of  his  fathers.  Ordained  a  Priest :  Preaches  with  all  his  might 
at  Vienna  and  elsewhere,  amid  much  tumult  and  obloquy.  Literary  dregs. 
Drawing  nigh  to  his  end  :  Sleep  of  Death.  Pray,  wanderer,  for  a  wanderer's 
soul.  (135). — Questionable  character  of  his  Life  and  Works.  Gigantic  en- 
deavour, leading  to  most  dwarfish  performance.  His  change  of  faith  evi- 
dently sincere  :  A  melancholy  posthumous  fragment :  No  thought  of  return- 
ing to  Protestantism.  His  mysticism  and  dissoluteness  :  His  belief  probably 
persuasion  rather  than  conviction.  Religious  opinion  in  Germany.  W©  can- 
not justify  Werner,  yet  let  him  be  condemned  with  pity.  (143). 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER.' 

[1828.] 

If  the  charm  of  fame  consisted,  as  Horace  has  mistakenly 
declared,  '  in  being  pointed  at  with  the  finger,  and  having  it 
said,  This  is  he  ! '  few  writers  of  the  present  age  could  boast 
of  more  fame  than  Werner.  It  has  been  the  unhappy  fort- 
une of  this  man  to  stand  for  a  long  period  incessantly  before 
the  world,  in  a  far  stronger  light  than  naturally  belonged  to 
him,  or  could  exhibit  him  to  advantage.  Twenty  years  ago 
he  was  a  man  of  considerable  note,  which  has  ever  since 
been  degenerating  into  notoriety.  The  mystic  dramatist,  the 
sceptical  enthusiast,  was  known  and  partly  esteemed  by  all 
students  of  poetry  ;  Madame  de  Stael,  we  recollect,  allows 
him  an  entire  chapter  in  her  Allemagne.  It  was  a  much 
coarser  curiosity,  and  in  a  much  wider  circle,  which  the  dis- 
sipated man,  by  successive  indecorums,  occasioned ;  till  at 
last  the  convert  to  Popery,  the  preaching  zealot,  came  to  fig- 
ure in  all  newspapers  ;  and  some  picture  of  him  was  required 
for  all  heads  that  would  not  sit  blank  and  mute  in   the  topic 

1  Foreign  Review,  No.  1. — Lebens-Abriss  Friedricli  Ludwig  Zacha- 
rias  Werners  Von  clem  Herausgeber  ton  Hoffmanns  Leben  und 
Nachlass.  (Sketch  of  the  Life  of  Frederick  Ludwig  Zacharias  Werner. 
By  the  Editor  of  '  Hoffmann's  Life  and  Remains.')     Berlin,  1823. 

2  Die  Sohne  des  Thais.  (The  Sons  of  the  Valley. )  A  Dramatic  Poem. 
Part  I.  Die  Templer  auf  Cypem.  (The  Templars  in  Cyprus.)  Part  II. 
Die  Kreuzeshruder.     (The  Brethren  of  the  Cross.)     Berlin,  1801,  1802. 

3  Das  Kreuz  an  der  Osteee.  (The  Cross  on  the  Baltic.)  A  Tragedy. 
Berlin,  1806. 

4  Martin  Luther,  oder  die  Weihe  der  Kraft.  (Martin  Luther,  or  the 
Consecration  of  Strength.)     A  Tragedy.     Berlin,  1807. 

5  Die  Mutter  der  Makkabiier.  (The  mother  of  the  Maccabes.)  A 
Tragedy.     Vienna,  1820. 


94  LIFE  AND   WRITINGS  OF  WERNER. 

of  every  coffeehouse  and  (Esthetic  tea.  In  dim  heads,  that  is, 
in  the  great  majority,  the  picture  was,  of  course,  perverted 
into  a  strange  bugbear,  and  the  original  decisively  enough 
condemned  ;  but  even  the  few,  who  might  see  him  in  his  true 
shape,  felt  too  well  that  nothing  loud  could  be  said  in  his  be- 
half ;  that,  with  so  many  mournful  blemishes,  if  extenuation 
could  not  avail,  no  complete  defence  was  to  be  attempted. 

At  the  same  time,  it  is  not  the  history  of  a  mere  literary 
profligate  that  we  have  here  to  do  with.  Of  men  whom  fine 
talents  cannot  teach  the  humblest  prudence,  whose  high  feel- 
ing, unexpressed  in  noble  action,  must  lie  smouldering  with 
baser  admixtures  in  their  own  bosom,  till  their  existence, 
assaulted  from  without  and  from  within,  becomes  a  burnt  and 
blackened  ruin,  to  be  sighed  over  by  the  few,  and  stared  at, 
or  trampled  on,  by  the  many,  there  is  unhappily  no  want  in 
any  country  ;  nor  can  the  unnatural  union  of  genius  with 
depravity  and  degradation  have  such  charms  for  our  readers, 
that  we  should  go  abroad  in  quest  of  it,  or  in  any  case  dwell 
on  it,  otherwise  than  with  reluctance.  Werner  is  something 
more  than  this  :  a  gifted  spirit  struggling  earnestly  amid  the 
new,  complex,  tumultuous  influences  of  his  time  and  country, 
but  without  force  to  body  himself  forth  from  amongst  them  ; 
a  keen  adventurous  swimmer,  aiming  towards  high  and  dis- 
tant landmarks,  but  too  weakly  in  so  rough  a  sea  ;  for  the 
currents  drive  him  far  astray,  and  he  sinks  at  last  in  the 
waves,  attaining  little  for  himself,  and  leaving  little,  save  the 
memory  of  his  failure,  to  others.  A  glance  over  his  history 
may  not  be  unprofitable  ;  if  the  man  himself  can  less  interest 
us,  the  ocean  of  German,  of  European  Opinion,  still  rolls  in 
wild  eddies  to  and  fro  ;  and  with  its  movements  and  refluxes, 
indicated  in  the  history  of  such  mem  every  one  of  us  is  con- 
cerned. 

Our  materials  for  this  survey  are  deficient,  not  so  much  in 
quantity  as  quality.  The  '  Life,'  now  known  to  be  by  Hitzig 
of  Berlin,  seems  a  very  honest,  unpresuming  performance  ; 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  much  too  fragmentary  and  dis- 
cursive for  our  wants  ;  the  features  of  the  man  are  nowhere 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER.  95 

united  into  a  portrait,  but  left  for  the  reader  to  unite  as  he 
may  ;  a  task  which,  to  most  readers,  will  be  hard  enough  : 
for  the  Work,  short  in  compass,  is  more  than  proportionally 
short  in  details  of  facts ;  and  Werner's  history,  much  as  an 
intimate  friend  must  have  known  of  it,  still  lies  before  us,  in 
great  part,  dark  and  unintelligible.  For  what  he  has  done 
we  should  doubtless  thank  our  Author ;  yet  it  seems  a  pity, 
that  in  this  instance  he  had  not  done  more  and  better.  A 
singular  chance  made  him,  at  the  same  time,  companion  of 
both  Hoffmann  and  Werner,  perhaps  the  two  most  showy, 
heterogeneous  and  misinterpretable  writers  of  his  da}r ;  nor 
shall  we  deny  that,  in  performing  a  friend's  duty  to  their 
memory,  he  has  done  truth  also  a  service.  His  Life  of  Hoff- 
mann,' pretending  to  no  artfulness  of  arrangement,  is  redun- 
dant, rather  than  defective,  in  minuteness  ;  but  there,  at  least, 
the  means  of  a  correct  judgment  are  brought  within  our  reach, 
and  the  work,  as  usual  with  Hitzig,  bears  marks  of  the  utmost 
fairness  ;  and  of  an  accuracy  which  we  might  almost  call  pro- 
fessional :  for  the  Author,  it  would  seem,  is  a  legal  functionary 
of  long  standing,  and  now  of  respectable  rank  ;  and  he  ex- 
amines and  records,  with  a  certain  notarial  strictness  too  rare 
in  compilations  of  this  sort.  So  far  as  Hoffmann  is  concerned, 
therefore,  we  have  reason  to  be  satisfied.  In  regard  to 
Werner,  however,  we  cannot  say  so  much:  here  we  should 
certainly  have  wished  for  more  facts,  though  it  had  been  with 
fewer  consequences  drawTQ  from  them  ;  were  these  somewhat 
chaotic  expositions  of  Werner's  character  exchanged  for  sim- 
ple particulars  of  his  walk  and  conversation,  the  result  would 
be  much  surer,  and,  especially  to  foreigners,  much  more  com- 
plete and  luminous.  As  it  is,  from  repeated  perusals  of  this 
biography,  we  have  failed  to  gather  any  very  clear  notion  of 
the  man  :  nor  with  perhaps  more  study  of  his  writings  than, 
on  other  grounds,  they  could  have  merited,  does  his  manner 
of  existence  still  stand  out  to  us  with  that  distinct  cohesion 
which  puts  an  end  to  doubt.  Our  view  of  him  the  reader  will 
accept  as  an  approximation,  and  be  content  to  wonder  with 
us,  and  charitably  pause  where  we  cannot  altogether  interpret. 
1  See  Appendix  I.     §  Hoffmann. 


96  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER 

Werner  was  born  at  Konigsberg,  in  East  Prussia,  on  the 
18th  of  November  1768.  His  father  was  Professor  of  His- 
tory and  Eloquence  in  the  University  there  ;  and  farther,  in 
virtue  of  this  office,  Dramatic  Censor  ;  which  latter  circum- 
stance procured  young  Werner  almost  daily  opportunity  of 
visiting  the  theatre,  and  so  gave  him,  as  he  says,  a  greater 
acquaintance  with  the  mechanism  of  the  stage  than  even  most 
players  are  possessed  of.  A  strong  taste  for  the  drama  it 
probably  enough  gave  him  ;  but  this  skill  in  stage-mechan- 
ism may  be  questioned,  for  often  in  his  own  plays,  no  such 
skill,  but  rather  the  want  of  it,  is  evinced. 

The  Professor  and  Censor,  of  whom  we  hear  nothing  in 
blame  or  praise,  died  in  the  fourteenth  year  of  his  son,  and  the 
boy  now  fell  to  the  sole  charge  of  his  mother  ;  a  woman 
whom  he  seems  to  have  loved  warmly,  but  whose  guardian- 
ship could  scarcely  be  the  best  for  him.  Werner  himself 
speaks  of  her  in  earnest  commendation,  as  of  a  pure,  high- 
minded  and  heavily-afflicted  being.  Hoffmann,  however,  adds, 
that  she  was  hypochondriacal,  and  generally  quite  delirious, 
imagining  herself  to  be  the  Virgin  Mary,  and  her  son  to  be 
the  promised  Shiloh !  Hoffmann  had  opportunity  enough 
of  knowing  ;  for  it  is  a  curious  fact  that  these  two  singular 
persons  were  brought  up  under  the  same  roof,  though, 
at  this  time,  by  reason  of  their  difference  of  age,  Wer- 
ner being  eight  years  older,  they  had  little  or  no  ac- 
quaintance. What  a  nervous  and  melancholic  parent  was, 
Hoffmann,  by  another  unhappy  coincidence,  had  also  full  oc- 
casion to  know  ;  his  own  mother,  parted  from  her  husband, 
lay  helpless  and  broken-hearted  for  the  last  seventeen  years 
of  her  life  and  the  first  seventeen  of  his  ;  a  source  of  pain- 
ful influences,  which  he  used  to  trace  through  the  whole  of 
his  own  character  ;  as  to  the  like  cause  he  imputed  the 
primary  perversion  of  Werner's.  How  far  his  views  on  this 
point  were  accurate  or  exaggerated,  we  have  no  means  of 
judging. 

Of  Werner's  early  years  the  biographer  says  little  or  noth- 
ing. We  learn  only  that,  about  the  usual  age,  he  matricu- 
lated  in  the    Konigsberg   University,    intending   to   qualify 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER.  97 

himself  for  the  business  of  a  lawyer  ;  and  with  his  profes- 
sional studies  united,  or  attempted  to  unite,  the  study  of 
philosophy  under  Kant.  His  college-life  is  characterised  by 
a  single,  but  too  expressive  word:.  'It  is  said,'  observes 
Hitzig,  'to  have  been  very  dissolute.'  His  progress  in  meta- 
physics, as  in  all  branches  of  learning,  might  thus  be  ex- 
pected to  be  small  ;  indeed,  at  no  period  of  his  life  can  he, 
even  in  the  language  of  panegyric,  be  called  a  man  of  culture 
or  solid  information  on  any  subject.  Nevertheless,  he  con- 
trived, in  his  twenty-first  year,  to  publish  a  little  volumne  of 
'Poems,'  apparently  in  very  tolerable  magazine  metre;  and 
after  some  '  roamings '  over  Germany,  having  loitered  for  a 
while  at  Berlin,  and  longer  at  Dresden,  he  betook  himself  to 
more  serious  business  ;  applied  for  admittance  and  promo- 
tion as  a  Prussian  man  of  law  ;  the  employment  which  young 
■jurists  look  for  in  that  countrv  being  chieflv  in  the  hands 
of  Government ;  consisting,  indeed,  of  appointments  in  the 
various  judicial  or  administrative  Boards  by  which  the  Prov- 
inces are  managed.  In  1793,  Werner  accordingly  was  made 
Kammersecretdr  (Exchequer  Secretary) ;  a  subaltern  office, 
which  he  held  successively  in  several  stations,  and  last  and 
longest  in  Warsaw,  where  Hitzig,  a  young  man  following  the 
same  profession,  first  became  acquainted  with  him  in  1799. 

What  the  purport  or  result  of  Werner's  '  roamings '  may 
have  been,  or  how  he  had  demeaned  himself  in  office  or  out 
of  it,  we  are  nowhere  informed  ;  but  it  is  an  ominous  circum- 
stance that,  even  at  this  period,  in  his  thirtieth  year,  he  had 
divorced  two  wives,  the  last  at  least  by  mutual  consent,  and 
was  looking  out  for  a  third  !  Hitzig,  with  wThom  he  seems 
to  have  formed  a  prompt  and  close  intimacy,  gives  us  no  full 
picture  of  him  under  any  of  his  aspects  :  yet  we  can  see  that 
his  life,  as  naturally  it  might,  already  wore  somewhat  of  a 
shattered  appearance  in  his  own  eyes  ;  that  he  was  broken  in 
character,  in  spirit,  perhaps  in  bodily  constitution  ;  and,  con- 
tenting himself  with  the  transient  gratifications  of  so  gay 
a  city  and  so  tolerable  an  appointment,-  had  renounced  all 
steady  and  rational  hope  either  of  being  happy,  or  of  deserv- 
ing to  be  so.  Of  unsteady  and  irrational  hopes,  however,  he 
7 


08  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER. 

had  still  abundance.  The  fine  enthusiasm  of  his  nature,  un- 
destroyed  by  so  many  external  perplexities,  nay  to  which  per- 
haps these  very  perplexities  had  given  fresh  and  undue  ex- 
citement, glowed  forth  in  strange  many-coloured  brightness 
from  amid  the  wreck  of  his  fortunes  ;  and  led  him  into  wild 
worlds  of  speculation,  the  more  vehemently,  that  the  real 
world  of  action  and  duty  had  become  so  unmanageable  in 
his  hands. 

Werner's  early  publication  had  sunk,  after  a  brief  provin- 
cial life,  into  merited  oblivion  :  in  fact,  he  had  then  only  been 
a  rhymer,  and  was  now,  for  the  first  time,  beginning  to  be  a 
poet.  We  have  one  of  those  youthful  pieces  transcribed  in 
this  Volume,  and  certainly  it  exhibits  a  curious  contrast  with* 
his  subsequent  writings,  both  in  form  and  spirit.  In  form, 
because,  unlike  the  first-fruits  of  a  genius,  it  is  cold  and 
correct ;  while  his  later  works,  without  exception,  are  fervid, 
extravagant  and  full  of  gross  blemishes.  In  spirit  no  less, 
because,  treating  of  his  favourite  theme,  Eeligion,  it  treats  of 
it  harshly  and  sceptically  ;  being,  indeed,  little  more  than  a 
metrical  version  of  common  Utilitarian  Freethinking,  as  it 
may  be  found  (without  metre)  in  most  taverns  and  debating- 
societies.  Werner's  intermediate  secret-history  might  form  a 
strange  chapter  in  psychology :  for  now,  it  is  clear,  his  French 
scepticism  had  got  overlaid  with  wonderous  theosophic  gar- 
niture ;  his  mind  was  full  of  visions  and  cloudy  glories,  and 
no  occupation  pleased  him  better  than  to  controvert,  in  gen- 
erous inquiring  minds,  that  very  unbelief  which  he  appears 
to  have  once  entertained  in  his  own.  From  Hitzig's  account 
of  the  matter,  this  seems  to  have  formed  the  strongest  link  of 
his  intercourse  with  Werner.  The  latter  was  his  senior  by 
ten  years  of  time,  and  by  more  than  ten  years  of  unhajW 
experience  ;  the  grand  questions  of  Immortality,  of  Fate, 
Freewill,  Foreknowledge  absolute,  were  in  continual  agitation 
between  them  ;  and  Hitzig  still  remembers  with  gratitude 
these  earnest  warnings  against  irregularity  of  life,  and  so 
many  ardent  and  not  ineffectual  endeavours  to  awaken  in  the 
passionate  temperament  of  youth  a  glow  of  purer  and  enlight- 
ening fiie. 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER.  99 

'Some  leagues  from  Warsaw,'  says  the  Biographer,  '  en- 
chantingly  embosomed  in  a  thick  wood,  close  by  the  high 
banks  of  the  Vistula,  lies  the  Cameldulensian  Abbey  of 
Bielany,  inhabited  by  a  class  of  monks,  who  in  strictness  of 
discipline  yield  Only  to  those  of  La  Trappe.  To  this  cloistral 
solitude  Werner  wa3  wont  to  repair  with  his  friend,  every  fine 
Saturday  of  the  summer  of  1800,  so  soon  as  their  occupations 
in  the  city  were  over.  In  defect  of  any  formal  inn,  the  two 
used  to  bivouac  in  the  forest,  or  at  best  to  sleep  under  a 
temporary  tent.  The  Sunday  was  then  spent  in  the  open  air  ; 
in  roving  about  the  woods  ;  sailing  on  the  river,  and  the  like  ; 
till  late  night  recalled  them  to  the  city.  On  such  occasions, 
the  younger  of  the  party  had  ample  room  to  unfold  his  whole 
heart  before  his  more  mature  and  settled  companion  ;  to  ad- 
vance his  doubts  and  objections  against  many  theories,  which 
Werner  was  already  cherishing  ;  and  so,  by  exciting  him  with 
contradiction,  to  cause  him  to  make  them  clearer  to  himself.' 

Week  after  week,  these  discussions  were  carefully  resumed 
from  the  point  where  they  had  been  left  :  indeed,  to  WTerner, 
it  would  seem,  this  controversy  had  unusual  attractions ;  for 
he  was  now  busy  composing  a  Poem,  intended  principally  to 
convince  the  world  of  those  very  truths  which  he  was  striving 
to  impress  on  his  friend ;  and  to  which  the  world,  as  might 
be  expected,  was  likely  to  give  a  similar  reception.  The 
character,  or  at  least  the  way  of  thought,  attributed  to  Robert 
d'Heredon,  the  Scottish  Templar,  in  the  Sons  of  the  Valley, 
was  borrowed  it  appears,  as  if  by  regular  instalments,  from 
these  conferences  with  Hitzig  ;  the  result  of  the  one  Sunday 
being  duly  entered  in  dramatic  form  during  the  week ;  then 
audited  on  the  Sunday  following  ;  and  so  forming  the  text  for 
farther  disquisition.  'Blissful  days,'  adds  Hitzig,  'pure  and 
'  innocent,  which  doubtless  Werner  also  ever  held  in  pleased 
'  remembrance  ! ' 

The  Sohne  des  Thais,  composed  in  this  rather  questionable 
fashion,  was  in  due  time  forthcoming  ;  the  First  Part  in  1801, 
the  Second  about  a  year  afterwards.  It  is  a  drama,  or  rather 
two  dramas,  unrivalled  at  least  in  one  particular,  in  length  ; 
each  Part  being  a  play  of  six  acts,  and  the  whole  amounting 
to  somewhat  more  than  800  small  octavo  pages !     To  attempt 


100  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER. 

any  analysis  of  such  a  work  would  but  fatigue  our  readers  to 
little  purpose  :  it  is,  as  might  be  anticipated,  of  a  most  loose 
and  formless  structure  ;  expanding  on  all  sides  into  vague 
boundlessness,  and,  on  the  whole,  resembling  not  so  much  a 
poem  as  the  rude  materials  of  one.  The  subject  is  the  de- 
struction of  the  Templar  Order ;  an  event  which  has  been 
dramatised  more  than  once,  but  on  which,  notwithstanding, 
Werner,  we  suppose,  may  boast  of  being  entirely  original. 
The  fate  of  Jacques  Molay  and  his  brethren  acts  here  but  like 
a  little  leaven  :  and  lucky  were  we,  could  it  leaven  the  lump  ; 
but  it  lies  buried  under  such  a  mass  of  Mystical  theology 
Masonic  mummery,  Cabalistic  tradition  and  Rosicrueian 
philosophy,  as  no  power  could  work  into  dramatic  union. 
The  incidents  are  few,  and  of  little  interest ;  interrupted  con- 
tinually by  flaring  shows  and  long-winded  speculations ;  for 
Werner's  besetting  sin,  that  of  loquacity,  is  here  in  decided 
action  ;  and  so  we  wander,  in  aimless  windings,  through 
scene  after  scene  of  gorgeousness  or  gloom  ;  till  at  last  the 
whole  rises  before  us  like  a  wild  phantasmagoria ;  cloud 
heaped  on  cloud,  painted  indeed  here  and  there  with  pris- 
matic hues,  but  representing  nothing,  or  at  least  not  the  sub- 
ject, but  the  author. 

In  this  last  point  of  view,  however,  as  a  picture  of  himself, 
independently  of  other  considerations,  this  play  of  Werner's 
may  still  have  a  certain  value  for  us.  The  strange  chaotic 
nature  of  the  man  is  displayed  in  it :  his  scepticism  and  the- 
osophy  ;  his  audacity,  yet  intrinsic  weakness  of  character  ;  his 
baffled  longings,  but  still  ardent  endeavours  after  Truth  and 
Good  ;  his  search  for  them  in  far  journeyings,  not  on  the 
beaten  highways,  but  through  a  pathless  infinitude  of  Thought. 
To  call  it  a  work  of  art  would  be  a  misapplication  of  names  : 
it  is  little  more  than  a  rhapsodic  effusion  ;  the  outpouring  of 
a  passionate  and  mystic  soul,  only  half-knowing  what  it  utters, 
and  not  ruling  its  own  movements,  but  ruled  by  them.  It  is 
fair  to  add,  that  such  also,  in  a  great  measure,  was  Werner's 
own  view  of  the  matter  :  most  likely  the  utterance  of  these 
things  gave  him  such  relief,  that,  crude  as  they  were,  he  could 
not  suppress  them.     For  it  ought  to  be  remembered,  that  in 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER.  101 

this  performance  one  condition,  at  least,  of  genuine  inspira- 
tion is  not  wanting:  Werner  evidently  thinks  that  in  these 
his  ultramundane  excursions  he  has  found  truth  ;  he  has 
something  positive  to  set  forth,  and  he  feels  himself  as  if  bound 
on  a  high  and  holy  mission  in  preaching  it  to  his  fellow  men. 

To  explain  with  any  minuteness  the  articles  of  Werners 
creed,  as  it  was  now  fashioned,  and  is  here  exhibited,  would 
be  a  task  perhaps  too  hard  for  us,  and,  at  all  events,  unprofit- 
able in  proportion  to  its  difficulty.  We  have  found  some 
separable  passages,  in  which,  under  dark  symbolical  figures, 
he  has  himself  shadowed  forth  a  vague  likeness  of  it :  these 
we  shall  now  submit  to  the  reader,  writh  such  expositions  as 
we  gather  from  the  context,  or  as  German  readers,  from  the 
usual  tone  of  speculation  in  that  country,  are  naturally  enabled 
to  supply.  This  may,  at  the  same  time,  convey  as  fair  a 
notion  of  the  work  itself,  with  its  tawdry  splendours,  and 
tumid  grandiloquence,  and  mere  playhouse  thunder  and  light- 
ning, as  by  any  other  plan  our  limits  would  admit. 

Let  the  reader  fancy  himself  in  the  island  of  Cyprus,  where 
the  Order  of  the  Templars  still  subsists,  though  the  heads  of 
it  are  already  summoned  before  the  French  King  and  Pope 
Clement ;  which  summons  they  are  now,  not  without  dreary 
enough  forebodings,  preparing  to  obey.  The  purport  of  this 
First  Part,  so  far  as  it  has  any  dramatic  purport,  is,  to  paint 
the  situation,  outward  and  inward,  of  that  once  pious  and 
heroic,  and  still  magnificent  and  powerful  body.  It  is  en- 
titled The  Templars  in  Cyprus ;  but  why  it  should  also  be 
called  TJie  Sons  of  the  Valley  does  not  so  well  appear  ;  for  the 
Brotherhood  of  the  Valley  has  yet  scarcely  come  into  activity, 
and  only  hovers  before  us  in  glimpses,  of  so  enigmatic  a  sort, 
that  we  know  not  fully  so  much  as  whether  these  its  Sons  are 
of  flesh  and  blood  like  ourselves,  or  of  some  spiritual  nature, 
or  of  something  intermediate,  and  altogether  nondescript. 
For  the  rest,  it  is  a  series  of  spectacles  and  dissertations  ;  the 
action  cannot  so  much  be  said  to  advance  as  to  revolve.  On 
this  occasion  the  Templars  are  admitting  two  new  members  ; 
the  acolytes  have  already  passed  their  preliminary  trials  ;  this 
is  the  chief  and  final  one  : 


102  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER. 


ACT  FIFTH.     SCENE  FIRST. 

Midnight.  Interior  of  tlw  Temple  Church.  Backwards,  a  deep  perspec- 
tive of  Altars  and  Gothic  Pillars.  On  the  right-hand  side  of  the  fore- 
ground, a  little  Chapel ;  and  in  this  an  Altar  with  the  figure  of  St.  Sebas- 
tian. The  scene  is  lighted  very  dimly  by  a  single  Lamp  which  hangs  before 
the  Altar. 

****** 

Adalbert  (dressed  in  white,  without  mantle  or  doublet ;  groping  his  way 

in  the  dark). 

Was  it  not  at  the  Altar  of  Sebastian 

That  I  was  bidden  wait  for  the  Unknown  ? 

Here  should  it  be  ;  but  darkness  with  her  veil 

Inwraps  the  figures.  [Advancing  to  the  Altar. 

Here  is  the  fifth  pillar ! 
Yes,  this  is  he,  the  Sainted. — How  the  glimmer 
Of  that  faint  lamp  falls  on  his  fading  eye  !  — 
Ah,  it  is  not  the  spears  o'  th'  Saracens, 
It  is  the  pangs  of  hopeless  love  that  burning 
Transfix  thy  heart,  poor  Comrade  ! — O  my  Agnes, 
May  not  thy  spirit,  in  this  earnest  hour, 
Be  looking  on  ?     Art  hovering  in  that  moonbeam 
Which  struggles  through  the  painted  window,  and  dies 
Amid  the  cloister's  gloom  ?     Or  linger'st  thou 
Behind  these  pillars,  which,  ominous  and  black, 
Look  down  on  me,  like  horrors  of  the  Past 
Upon  the  Present ;  and  hidest  thy  gentle  form, 
Lest  with  thy  paleness  thou  too  much  affright  me  ? 
Hide  not  thyself,  pale  shadow  of  my  Agnes, 
Thou  affrightest  not  thy  lover.  — Hush  ! — 
Hark  !     Was  there  not  a  rustling  ? — Father  !     You  ? 

philip  (rushing  in  with  wild  looks). 

Yes,  Adalbert  I — But  time  is  precious  ! — Come, 
My  son,  my  one  sole  Adalbert,  come  with  me ! 

ADALBERT. 

What  would  you,  father,  in  this  solemn  hour  ? 

PHILIP. 

This  hour,  or  never  !  [Leading  Adalbert  to  the  Altar, 

Hither  ! — Know'st  thou  him  ? 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER.  103 

ADALBERT. 
'Tis  Saint  Sebastian. 

PHILIP. 

Because  he  would  not 
Renounce  his  faith,  a  tyrant  had  him  murdered.     [Points  to  his  head. 
These  furrows,  too,  the  rage  of  tyrants  ploughed 
In  thy  old  father's  face.     My  son,  my  first-born  child, 
In  this  great  hour  I  do  conjure  thee !     Wilt  thou, 
Wilt  thou  obey  me  ? 

ADALBERT. 

Be  it  just,  I  will ! 

PHILIP. 

Then  swear,  in  this  great  hour,  in  this  dread  presence, 
Here  by  thy  father's  head  made  early  gray, 
By  the  remembrance  of  thy  mother's  agony, 
And  by  the  ravished  blossom  of  thy  Agnes, 
Against  the  Tyranny  which  sacrificed  us, 
Inexpiable,  bloody,  everlasting  hate  ! 

ADALBERT. 

Ha  !     This  the  All-avenger  spoke  through  thee  ! — 
Yes  !     Bloody  shall  my  Agnes'  death-torch  burn 
In  Philip's  heart ;  I  swear  it ! 

philip  {with  increasing  vehemence). 

And  if  thou  break 
This  oath,  and  if  thou  reconcile  thee  to  him, 
Or  let  his  golden  chains,  his  gifts,  his  prayers, 
His  dying-moan  itself  avert  thy  dagger 
When  th'  hour  of  vengeance  comes, — shall  this  gray  head, 
Thy  mother's  wail,  the  last  sigh  of  thy  Agnes, 
Accuse  thee  at  the  bar  of  the  Eternal  ? 

ADALBERT. 

So  be  it,  if  I  break  my  oath  ! 

PHILIP. 

Then  man  thee  ! — 
[Looking  up,  then  shrinking  together,  as  with  dazzled  eyes. 
Ha !  was  not  that  his  lightning  ? — Fare  thee  well ! 
I  hear  the  footstep  of  the  Dreaded  ! — Firm — 
Remember  me,  remember  this  stern  midnight !         [Retires  liastily. 


104  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER. 

ADALBERT    (alone). 

Yes,  Grayhead,  whom  the  beckoning  of  the  Lord 
Sent  hither  to  awake  me  out  of  craven  sleep, 
I*will  remember  thee  and  this  stern  midnight, 
And  my  Agnes'  spirit  shall  have  vengeance  ! — 

Enter  an  armed  man.     He  is  mailed  from  head  to  foot  in  black  harness  ; 

his  visor  is  closed. 

ARMED  MAN. 

Pray !     [Adalbert  kneels. 
Bare  thyself  ! —  [lie  strips  him  to  the  girdle  and  raises  him. 

Look  on  the  ground,  and  follow  ! 
[He  leads  him  into  the  background  to  a  trap-door,  on  the  right. 
He  descends  first  himself  ;  and  when  Adalbert  has  followed 
him,  it  closes. 

SECOND    SCENE.  » 

Cemetery  of  the  Templars,  under  the  Church.  The  scene  is  lighted  only 
by  a  Lamp  which  Jiangs  down  from  the  vault.  Around  are  Tombstones  of 
deceased  Knights,  marked  with  Crosses  and  sculptured  Bones.  In  the  back' 
ground,  two  colossal  Skeletons  holding  between  them  a  large  white  Book, 
marked  with  a  red  Cross  ;  from  the  under  end  of  the  Book  hangs  a  Jong 
black  curtain.  The  Book,  of  which  only  the  cover  is  visible,  has  an  inscrip- 
tion in  black  cipliers.  Ths  Skeleton  on  the  right  holds  in  its  right  hand  a 
naked  drawn  Sword  ;  that  on  the  left  holds  in  its  left  hand  a  Palm  turned 
downwards.  On  the  right  side  of  the  foreground  stands  a  black  Coffin  open; 
on  the  left,  a  similar  one  with  the  body  of  a  Templar  in  the  full  dress  of  his 
Order  ;  on  both  Coffins  are  inscriptions  in  white  ciphers.  On  each  side, 
nearer  tfie  background,  are  seen  the  lowest  steps  of  the  stairs  which  lead  up 
into  the  Temple  Church  aboce  the  vault. 

armed  man  {not  yet  visible  ;  above  on  the  right-hand  stairs). 
Dreaded  !     Is  the  grave  laid  open  ? 

CONCEALED  VOICES. 

Yea! 
armed  man  (who  after  a  pause  shows  himself  on  the  stairs). 
Shall  he  behold  the  Tombs  o'  th'  fathers  ? 

CONCEALED  VOICES. 

Yea! 
[armed  man  with  drawn  sword  leads  Adalbert  carefully 
down  the  steps  on  the  right  Jiand. 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF   WERNER.  105 

ARMED  MAN  (to  ADALBERT.) 

Look  down  !     Tis  on  thy  life  !        [Leads  him  to  tlie  open  Coffin- 

What  seest  thou  ? 

ADALBERT. 

An  open  empty  Coffin. 

ARMED  MAN. 

'Tis  the  house 
Where  thou  one  day  shalt  dwell. — Canst  read  th'  inscription  ? 

ADALBERT. 

No. 

ARMED   MAN. 

Hear  it,  then :   '  Thy  wages,  Sin,  is  Death. ' 

[Leads  him  to  the  opposite  Coffin  ichere  the  Body  is  lying. 
Look  down  !     'Tis  on  thy  life  ! — What  seest  thou  V 

[Shows  the  Coffin. 

ADALBERT. 
A  Coffin  with  a  Corpse. 

ARMED  MAN. 

He  is  thy  Brother  ; 
One  day  thou  art  as  he. — Canst  read  th'  inscription  ? 

ADALBERT. 

No. 

ARMED  MAN. 

Hear  :  '  Corruption  is  the  name  of  Life.' 
Now  look  around  ;  go  forward, — move,  and  act ! — 

[He  pushes  him  toward  the  background  of  the  stage. 

Adalbert  (observing  the  Book). 

Ha  !     Here  the  Book  of  Ordination  ! — Seems  [Approaching  0 

As  if  th'  inscription  on  it  might  be  read.  [Be  reads  it. 
'  Knock  four  times  on  the  ground, 
Thou  shalt  behold  thy  loved  one.' 

O  Heavens  !     And  may  I  see  thee,  sainted  Agnes  ? 
My  bosom  yearns  for  thee  ! —  [Hastening  close  to  the  Book. 

[  With  ilie  following  words,  he  stamps  four  times  on  the  ground. 
One,— Two,— Three,— Four  !  — 

[The  curtain  hanging  from  the  Book  rolls  rapidly  up,  and  covers  it. 
A  colossal  DeviVs  head  appears  between  thetico  Skeletons;  its  form 
is  horrible  ;  it  is  gilt  ;  has  a  huge  golden  Crown,  a  Heart  of  Hie  same 
on  its  Broio  ;  rolling  flaming  Eyes  ;  Serpents  instead  of  Hair  ;  golden 


106  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER. 

Chains  round  its  neck,  which  is  visible  to  tlie  breast;  and  a  golden, 
Cross,  yet  not  a  Crucifix,  which  rises  over  its  right  shoulder,  as  if 
crushing  it  down.     Tlie  wlwle  Bust  rests  on  four  gilt  Dragon'' s-feet. 
At  sight  of  it,  Adalbert  starts  back  in  horror,  and  exclaims : 
Defend  us ! 

ARMED  MAN. 

Dreaded  !  may  he  hear  it  ? 

CONCEALED   VOICES. 

Yea! 
armed  man  {touches  the  Curtain  with  his  sword;  it  rolls  down  over  the 
DeviV  s-head,  concealing  it  again  ;  and  above,  as  before,  appears  the  Book, 
but  now  opened,  with  ivhite  colossal  leaves  and  red  characters.  The  armed 
man,  pointing  constantly  to  the  Book  with  his  sword,  and  therewith  turning 
the  leaves,  addresses  Adalbert,  who  stands  on  the  other  side  of  the  Book, 
and  nearer  the  foreground). 

List  to  the  Story  of  the  Fallen  Master. 
\He  reads  tlie  following  from  the  Book  ;  yet  not  standing  before  it,  but 
on  one  side,  at  some  paces  distance,  and  whilst  he  reads,  turning  the 
leaves  with  his  sword. 

So  now  when  the  foundation-stone  was  laid, 

The  Lord  called  forth  the  Master,  Baffometus, 

And  said  to  him  :  Go  and  complete  my  Temple  ! 

But  in  his  heart  the  Master  thought :   What  boots  it 

Building  thee  a  temple  ?  and  took  the  stones, 

And  built  himself  a  dwelling,  and  what  stones 

Were  left  he  gave  for  filthy  gold  and  silver. 

Now  after  forty  moons  the  Lord  returned, 

And  spake  :  Where  is  my  Temple,  Baffometus  ? 

The  Master  said  :  I  had  to  build  myself 

A  dwelling  ;  grant  me  other  forty  weeks. 

And  after  forty  weeks,  the  Lord  returns, 

And  asks  :  Where  is  my  Temple,  Baffometus  ? 

He  said  :  There  were  no  stones  (but  he  had  sold  them 

For  filthy  gold) ;   so  wait  yet  forty  days. 

In  forty  days  thereafter  came  the  Lord, 

And  cried  :  Where  is  my  Temple,  Baffometus  ? 

Then  like  a  millstone  fell  it  on  his  soul 

How  he  for  lucre  had  betrayed  his  Lord  ; 

But  yet  to  other  sin  the  Fiend  did  tempt  him, 

And  he  answered,  saying  :   Give  me  forty  hours! 

And  when  the  forty  hours  were  gone,  the  Lord 

Came  down  in  wrath  :  My  Temple,  Baffometus  ? 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER.  107 

Then  fell  he  quaking  on  his  face,  and  cried 

For  mercy  ;  but  the  Lord  was  wroth,  and  said : 

Since  thou  hast  cozened  me  with  empty  lies, 

And  those  the  stones  I  lent  thee  for  my  Temple 

Hast  sold  them  for  a  purse  of  filthy  gold, 

Lo,  I  will  cast  thee  forth,  and  with  the  Mammon 

Will  chastise  thee,  until  a  Saviour  rise 

Of  thy  own  seed,  who  shall  redeem  thy  trespass. 

Then  did  the  Lord  lift  up  the  purse  of  Gold ; 

And  shook  the  gold  into  a  melting-pot, 

And  set  the  melting-pot  upon  the  Sun, 

So  that  the  metal  fused  into  a  fluid  mass. 

And  then  he  dipt  a  finger  in  the  same, 

And,  straightway  touching  Baffometus, 

Anoints  him  on  the  chin  and  brow  and  cheeks. 

Then  was  the  face  of  Baffometus  changed  : 

His  eyeballs  rolled  like  fire-flames, 

His  nose  became  a  crooked  vulture's  bill, 

The  tongue  hung  bloody  from  his  throat ;  the  flesh 

Went  from  his  hollow  cheeks  ;   and  of  his  hair 

Grew  snakes,  and  of  the  snakes  grew  Devil's-horns. 

Again  the  Lord  put  forth  his  finger  with  the  gold, 

And  pressed  it  upon  Baffometus'  heart ; 

Whereby  the  heart  did  bleed  and  wither  up, 

And  all  his  members  bled  and  withered  up, 

And  fell  away,  the  one  and  then  the  other. 

At  last  his  back  itself  sunk  into  ashes  : 

The  head  alone  continued  gilt  and  living  ; 

And  instead  of  back,  grew  dragon's-talons, 

Which  destroyed  all  life  from  off  the  Earth. 

Then  from  the  ground  the  Lord  took  up  the  heart, 

Which,  as  he  touched  it,  also  grew  of  gold, 

&nd  placed  it  on  the  brow  of  Baffometus ; 

\nd  of  the  other  metal  in  the  pot 

He  made  for  him  a  burning  crown  of  gold, 

And  crushed  it  on  his  serpent-hair,  so  that 

Even  to  the  bone  and  brain  the  circlet  scorched  him. 

And  round  the  neck  he  twisted  golden  chains, 

Which  strangled  him  and  pressed  his  breath  together. 

What  in  the  pot  remained  he  poured  upon  the  ground, 

Athwart,  along,  and  there  it  formed  a  cross  ; 

The  which  he  lifted  and  laid  upon  his  neck, 

And  bent  him  that  he  could  not  raise  his  head. 

Two  Deaths  moreover  he  appointed  warders 

To  guard  him  :   Death  of  Life,  and  Death  of  Hope. 


108  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER. 

The  Sword  of  the  first  he  sees  not,  but  it  smites  him  ; 

The  other's  Palm  he  sees,  but  it  escapes  him. 

So  languishes  the  outcast  Baff  ometus 

Four  thousand  years  and  four-and-forty  moons, 

Till  once  a  Saviour  rise  from  his  own  seed, 

Redeem  his  trespass  and  deliver  him.'  [To  ADALBERT. 

This  is  the  Story  of  the  Fallen  Master. 

[With  his  sword  he  touches  the  Curtain,  which  note  as  before  rolls 

up  over  the  Book  ;  so  that  the  head  under  it  again  becomes  visible, 

in  its  former  shape. 

Adalbert  (looking  at  the  head). 
Hah,  what  a  hideous  shape  ! 

head  (with  a,  hollow  voice). 

Deliver  me  ! — ■ 

ARMED   MAN. 

Dreaded  !  shall  the  work  begin  ? 

CONCEALED  VOICES. 

Yea! 

ARMED  MAN  (to  ADALBERT). 

Take  the  Neckband 
Away  !  [Pointing  to  the  head. 

ADALBERT. 

I  dare  not ! 

head  (with  a  still  more  piteous  tone). 
O,  deliver  me! 

Adalbert  (taking  off  the  chains). 
Poor  fallen  one ! 

ARMED  MAN. 

Now  lift  the  Crown  from  's  head ! 

ADALBERT. 

It  seems  so  heavy  ! 

ARMED  MAN. 
Touch  it,  it  grows  light. 

Adalbert  (taking  off  the  Crown  and  casting  it,  as  lie  did  the  chains, 
on  the  ground). 

ARMED   MAN. 

Now  take  the  golden  heart  from  off  his  brow ! 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER.  109 

ADALBERT. 

It  seems  to  burn  ! 

ARMED  MAN. 

Thou  errest :  ice  is  warmer. 

Adalbert  {taking  tlie  Heart  from  the  Brow). 
Hah  !  shivering  frost ! 

ARMED  MAN. 

Take  from  his  hack  the  Cross, 
And  throw  it  from  thee  !  — 

ADALBERT. 

How  !   The  Saviour's  token  ? 

HEAD. 

Deliver,  O  deliver  me  ! 

ARMED   MAN. 

This  Cross 
Is  not  thy  Master's,  not  that  bloody  one  : 
Its  counterfeit  is  this  :   throw  't  from  thee  ! 

Adalbert  {taking  it  from  the  Bust,  and  laying  it  softly  on  the  ground). 
The  Cross  of  the  Good  Lord  that  died  for  me  ? 

ARMED   MAN. 

Thou  shalt  no  more  believe  in  ons  that  died  ; 
TIwu  shalt  henceforth  believe  in  one  that  liveth  \ 
And  never  dies! — Obey,  and  question  not, — 
Step  over  it ! 

ADALBERT. 

Take  pity  on  me  ! 

armed  man  {threatening  him  with  his  Sword). 

Step! 

ADALBERT. 

I  do  't  with  shuddering — 

[Steps  over,  and  then  looks  up  to  the  head,  which  raises  itself  as 
freed  from  a  load. 

How  the  figure  rises 
And  looks  in  gladness  ! 

ARMED   MAN. 

Him  whom  thou  hast  served 
Till  now,  deny  ! 


110  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER. 

Adalbert  (horror-struck). 
Deny  the  Lord  my  God  ? 

ARMED  MAN. 

Thy  God  'tis  not :  the  Idol  of  this  World  !— 
Deny  him,  or — 

[Pressing  on  him  with  the  Sword  in  a  threatening  posture. 
— thou  diest ! 

ADALBERT. 

I  deny ! 

armed  man  (pointing  to  the  Head  icith  his  Sword). 
Go  to  the  Fallen  ! — Kiss  his  lips ! — 

— And  so  on  through  many  other  sulphurous  pages !  How 
much  of  this  mummery  is  copied  from  the  actual  practice  of 
the  Templars  we  know  not  with  certainty ;  nor  what  pre- 
cisely either  they  or  Werner  intended,  by  this  marvellous 
1  Story  of  the  Fallen  Master,'  to  shadow  forth.  At  first  view 
one  might  take  it  for  an  allegory,  couched  in  Masonic  lan- 
guage,— and  truly  no  flattering  allegory, — of  the  Catholic 
Church  ;  and  this  tranfpling  on  the  Cross,  which  is  said  to 
have  been  actually  enjoined  on  every  Templar  at  his  initiation, 
to  be  a  type  of  his  secret  behest  to  undermine  that  Institu- 
tion, and  redeem  the  spirit  of  Religion  from  the  state  of 
thraldom  and  distortion  under  which  it  was  there  held.  It  is 
known  at  least,  and  was  well  known  to  Werner,  that  the  heads 
of  the  Templars  entertained  views,  both  on  religion  and  politics, 
which  they  did  not  think  meet  for  communicating  to  their 
age,  and  only  imparted  by  degrees,  and  under  mysterious  ad- 
umbrations, to  the  wiser  of  their  own  Order.  They  had  even 
publicly  resisted,  and  succeeded  in  thwarting,  some  iniquitous 
measures  of  Philippe  Auguste,  the  French  King,  in  regard  to 
his  coinage  ;  and  this,  while  it  secured  them  the  love  of  the 
people,  was  one  great  cause,  perhaps  second  only  to  their 
wealth,  of  the  hatred  which  that  sovereign  bore  them,  and  of 
the  savage  doom  which  he  at  last  executed  on  the  whole  bod}r. 
But  on  these  secret  principles  of  theirs,  as  on  Werner's  man- 
ner of  conceiving  them,  we  are  only  enabled  to  guess ;  for 
Werner,  too,  has  an  esoteric  doctrine,  which  he  does  not  pro- 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER,  111 

mulgate,  except  in  dark  Sibylline  enigmas,  to  the  uninitiated. 
As  we  are  here  seeking  chiefly  for  his  religious  creed,  which 
forms,  in  truth,  with  its  changes,  the  main  thread  whereby 
his  wayward,  desultory  existence  attains  any  unity  or  even 
coherence  in  our  thoughts,  we  may  quote  another  passage 
from  the  same  First  Part  of  this  rhapsody  ;  which,  at  the  same 
time,  will  afford  us  a  glimpse  of  his  favourite  hero,  Robert 
d'Heredon,  lately  the  darling  of  the  Templars,  but  now,  for 
some  momentary  infraction  of  their  rules,  cast  into  prison, 
and  expecting  death,  or,  at  best,  exclusion  from  the  Order. 
Gottfried  is  another  Templar,  in  all  points  the  reverse  of 
Robert. 

ACT  FOURTH.     SCENE  FIRST. 

Prison  ;  at  the  wall  a  Table.  Robert,  without  sicord,  cap,  or  mantle, 
sits  downcast  on  one  side  of  it;  Gottfried,  who  keeps  watch  by  him,  sit- 
ting at  the  oilier. 

GOTTFRIED. 

But  how  couldst  thou  so  far  forget  thyself  ? 

Thou  wert  our  pride,  the  Master's  friend  and  favourite  ! 

ROBERT. 

I  did  it  thou  perceiv'st ! 

GOTTFRIED. 

How  could  a  word 
Of  the  old  surly  Hugo  so  provoke  thee  ? 

ROBERT. 

Ask  not — Man's  being  is  a  spider-web  : 

The  passionate  flash  o'  th'  soul — conies  not  of  him  ; 

It  is  the  breath  of  that  dark  Genius, 

Which  whirls  invisible  along  the  threads: 

A  servant  of  eternal  Destiny, 

It  purifies  them  from  the  vulgar  dust, 

Which  earthward  strives  to  press  the  net : 

But  Fate  gives  sign  ;  the  breath  becomes  a  whirlwind, 

And  in  a  moment  rends  to  shreds  the  thing 

We  thought  was  woven  for  Eternity. 

GOTTFRIED. 

Yet  each  man  shapes  his  Destiny  himself.  .       .    . 


112  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER. 

ROBERT. 

Small  soul !     Dost  thou  too  know  it  ?     Has  the  story 

Of  Force  and  free  Volition,  that,  defying 

The  corporal  Atoms  and  Annihilation, 

Methodic  guides  the  car  of  Destiny, 

Come  down  to  thee  f    Dream'st  thou,  poor  Nothingness, 

That  thou,  and  like  of  thee,  and  ten  times  better 

Than  thou  or  I,  can  lead  the  wheel  of  Fate 

One  hair's-breadth  from  its  everlasting  track  ? 

I  too  have  had  such  dreams  :    but  fearfully 

Have  I  been  shook  from  sleep  ;  and  they  are  fled  ! — 

Look  at  our  Order :   has  it  spared  its  thousands 

Of  noblest  lives,  the  victims  of  its  Purpose  ; 

And  has  it  gained  this  Purpose  ;  can  it  gain  it  ? 

Look  at  our  noble  Molay's  silvered  hair  : 

The  fruit  of  watchful  nights  and  stormful  days, 

And  of  the  broken  yet  still  burning  heart ! 

That  mighty  heart ! — Through  sixty  battling  years, 

*T  has  beat  in  pain  for  nothing :   his  creation 

Remains  the  vision  of  his  own  great  soul  ; 

It  dies  with  him ;  and  one  day  shall  the  pilgrim 

Ask  where  his  dust  is  lying,  and  not  learn  ! 

Gottfried  (yawning): 

But  then  the  Christian  has  the  joy  of  Heaven 
For  recompense  :  in  his  flesh  he  shall  see  God. 

ROBERT. 

In  his  flesh  ?— Now  fair  befall  the  journey  ! 
Wilt  stow  it  in  bebind,  by  way  of  luggage, 
When  the  Angel  comes  to  coach  thee  into  Glory  ? 
Mind  also  that  the  memory  of  those  fair  hours 
When  dinner  smoked  before  thee,  or  thou  usedst 
To  dress  thy  nag,  or  scour  thy  rusty  harness,  ' 
And  such  like  noble  business  be  not  left  behind  ! — 
Ha  !  self-deceiving  bipeds,  is  it  not  enough 
The  carcass  should  at  every  step  oppress, 
Imprison  you  ;  that  toothache,  headache, 
Gout, — who  knows  what  all,  — at  every  moment, 
Degrades  the  god  of  Earth  into  a  beast : 
But  you  would  take  this  villanous  mingle, 
The  coarser  dross  of  all  the  elements, 
Which,  by  the  Light-beam  from  on  high  that  visits 
And  dwells  in  it,  but  baser  shows  its  baseness, — 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER.  113 

Take  this,  and  all  the  freaks  which,  bubble-like, 
Spring  forth  o'  th'  blood,  and  which  by  such  fair  names 
You  call,  — along  with  you  into  your  Heaven  ? — 
Well,  be  it  to  !   much  good  may't — 

[As  his  eye,  by  chance,  lights  on  Gottfried,  who  meanwhile  has 
fallen  asleep. 

— Sound  already  ? 
There  is  a  race  for  whom  all  serves  as — pillow, 
Even  rattling  chains  are  but  a  lullaby. 

This  Robert  d'Heredon,  whose  preaching  has  here  such  a 
narcotic  virtue,  is  destined  ultimately  for  a  higher  office  than 
to  rattle  his  chains  by  way  of  lullaby.  He  is  ejected  from 
the  Order  ;  not,  however,  with  disgrace  and  in  anger,  but  in 
sad  feeling  of  necessity,  and  with  tears  and  blessings  from  his 
brethren  ;  and  the  messenger  of  the  Valley,  a  strange,  am- 
biguous, little,  sylph-like  maiden,  gives  him  obscure  encour- 
agement, before  his  departure,  to  possess  his  soul  in  patience  ; 
seeing,  if  he  can  learn  the  grand  secret  of  Renunciation,  his 
course  is  not  ended,  but  only  opening  on  a  fairer  scene. 
Robert  knows  not  well  what  to  make  of  this  ;  but  sails  for  his 
native  Hebrides,  in  darkness  and  contrition,  as  one  who  can 
do  no  other. 

In  the  end  of  the  Second  Part,  which  is  represented  as  di- 
vided from  the  First  by  an  interval  of  seven  years,  Robert  is 
again  summoned  forth  ;  and  the  whole  surprising  secret  of 
his  mission,  and  of  the  Valley  which  appoints  it  for  him,  is  dis- 
closed. This  Friedenthal  (Valley  of  Peace),  it  now  appears, 
is  an  immense  secret  association,  which  has  its  chief  seat 
somewhere  about  the  roots  of  Mount  Carmel,  if  we  mistake 
not  ;  but,  comprehending  in  its  ramifications  the  best  heads 
and  hearts  of  every  country,  extends  over  the  whole  civilised 
world  ;  and  has,  in  particular,  a  strong  body  of  adherents  in 
Paris,  and  indeed  a  subterraneous,  but  seemingly  very  com- 
modious suite  of  rooms,  under  the  Carmelite  Monastery  of  that 
city.  Here  sit  in  solemn  conclave  the  heads  of  the  Establish- 
ment ;  directing  from  their  lodge,  in  deepest  concealment, 
the  principal  movements  of  the  kingdom  ;  for  William  of  Paris, 
archbishop  of  Sens,  being  of  their  number,  the  king  and  his 
8 


114  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER 

other  ministers,  fancying  within  themselves  the  utmost  free- 
dom of  action,  are  nothing  more  than  puppets  in  the  hands  of 
this  all-powerful  Brotherhood,  which  watches,  like  a  sort  of 
Fate,  over  the  interests  of  mankind,  and  by  mysterious  agen- 
cies, forwards,  we  suppose,  '  the  cause  of  civil  and  religious 
liberty  all  over  the  world.'  It  is  they  that  have  doomed  the 
Templars  ;  and,  without  malice  or  pity,  are  sending  their 
leaders  to  the  dungeon  and  the  stake.  That  knightly  Order, 
once  a  favourite  minister  of  good,  has  now  degenerated  from 
its  purity,  and  come  to  mistake  its  purpose,  having  taken  up 
politics  and  a  sort  of  radical  reform  ;  and  so  must  now  be 
broken  and  reshaped,  like  a  worn  implement,  which  can  no 
longer  do  its  appointed  work. 

Such  a  magnificent  '  Society  for  the  Suppression  of  Vice ' 
may  well  be  supposed  to  walk  by  the  most  philosophical  prin- 
ciples. These  Friedenthalers,  in  fact,  profess  to  be  a  sort  of 
Invisible  Church  ;  preserving  in  vestal  purity  the  sacred  fire 
of  religion,  which  burns  with  more  or  less  fuliginous  admix- 
ture in  the  worship  of  every  people,  but  only  with  its  clear 
sidereal  lustre  in  the  recesses  of  the  Valley.  They  are  Bramins 
on  the  Ganges,  Bonzes  on  the  Hoangho,  Monks  on  the  Seine. 
They  addict  themselves  to  contemplation,  and  the  subtlest 
study  ;  have  penetrated  far  into  the  mysteries  of  spiritual  and 
physical  nature  ;  they  command  the  deep-hidden  virtues  of 
plant  and  mineral  ;  and  their  sages  can  discriminate  the  eye  of 
the  mind  from  its  sensual  instruments,  and  behold,  without 
type  or  material  embodiment,  the  essence  of  Being.  Their 
activity  is  all-comprehending  and  unerringly  calculated  ;  they 
rule  over  the  world  by  the  authority  of  wisdom  over  ignor- 
ance. 

In  the  Fifth  Act  of  the  Second  Part,  we  are  at  length, 
after  many  a  hint  and  significant  note  of  preparation,  intro- 
duced to  the  privacies  of  this  philosophical  Santa  Hermandad. 
A  strange  Delphic  cave  this  of  theirs,  under  the  very  pave- 
ments of  Paris !  There  are  brazen  folding-doors,  and  con- 
cealed voices,  and  sphinxes,  and  naphtha-lamps,  and  all  manner 
of  wondrous  furniture.  It  seems,  moreover,  to  be  a  sort  of 
gala  evening  with  them  ;  for  the  '  Old  Man  of  Carmel,  in 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER.  115 

1  eremite  garb,  with  a  long  beard  reaching  to  his  girdle,'  is 
for  a  moment  discovered  'reading  in  a  deep  monotonous 
'  voice.'  The  '  Strong  Ones,'  meanwhile,  are  out  in  quest  of 
Robert  d'Heredon  ;  who,  by  cunning  practices,  has  been  en- 
ticed from  his  Hebridean  solitude,  in  the  hope  of  saving 
Molay,  and  is  even  now  to  be  initiated,  and  equipped  for  his 
task.  After  a  due  allowance  of  pompous  ceremonial,  Robert 
is  at  last  ushered  in,  or  rather  dragged  in  ;  for  it  appears  that 
he  has  made  a  stout  debate,  not  submitting  to  the  customary 
form  of  being  ducked, — an  essential  preliminary,  it  would 
seem, — till  compelled  by  the  direst  necessity.  He  is  in  a  truly 
Highland  anger,  as  is  natural :  but  by  various  manipulations 
and  solacements,  he  is  reduced  to  reason  again  ;  finding,  in- 
deed, the  fruitlessness  of  anything  else  ;  for  when  lance  and 
sword  and  free  space  are  given  him,  and  he  makes  a  thrust  at 
Adam  of  Valincourt,  the  master  of  the  ceremonies,  it  is  to  no 
purpose  :  the  old  man  has  a  torpedo  quality  in  him,  which 
benumbs. the  stoutest  arm  ;  and  no  death  issues  from  the 
baffled  sword-point,  but  only  a  small  spark  of  electric  fire. 
With  his  Scottish  prudence,  Robert,  under  these  circum- 
stances, cannot  but  perceive  that  quietness  is  best.  The 
people  hand  him  in  succession,  the  'Cup  of  Strength,'  the 
'  Cup  of  Beauty,'  and  the  '  Cup  of  Wisdom  ; '  liquors  brewed,  if 
we  may  judge  from  their  effects,  writh  the  highest  stretch  of 
Rosicrucian  art ;  and  which  must  have  gone  far  to  disgust 
Robert  d'Heredon  with  his  natural  usquebaugh,  however  ex- 
i  silent,  had  that  fierce  drink  been  in  use  then.  He  rages  in 
t  fine  frenzy  ;  dies  awray  in  raptures  ;  and  then  at  last,  '  con- 
siders what  he  wanted  and  what  he  wants.'  Now  is  the  time 
for  Adam  of  Valincourt  to  strike-in  with  an  interminable  ex- 
position of  the  '  objects  of  the  society.'  To  not  unwilling  but 
still  cautious  ears  he  unbosoms  himself,  in  mystic  wise,  with 
extreme  copiousness  ;  turning  aside  objections  like  a  veteran 
disputant,  and  leading  his  apt  and  courageous  pupil,  by  signs 
and  wonders,  as  well  as  by  logic,  deeper  and  deeper  into  the 
secrets  of  theosophic  and  thaumaturgic  science.  A  little 
glimpse  of  this  our  readers  may  share  with  us  ;  though  we 
fear  the  allegory  will  seem  to  most  of  them  but  a  hollow  nut. 


116  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS   OF  WERNER. 

Nevertheless,  it  is  an  allegory — of  its  sort ;  and  we  can  pro- 
fess to  have  translated  with  entire  fidelity : 


ADAM. 

Thy  riddle  by  a  second  will  be  solved.     [He  leads  him  to  the  Sphinx. 

Behold  this  Sphinx  !     Half-beast,  half -angel,  both 

Combined  in  one,  it  is  an  emblem  to  thee 

Of  th'  ancient  Mother,  Nature,  herself  a  riddle, 

And  only  by  a  deeper  to  be  master'd. 

Eternal  Clearness  in  th'  eternal  Ferment : 

This  is  the  riddle  of  Existence  : — read  it, — 

Propose  that  other  to  her,  and  she  serves  thee  ! 

\Tlie  door  on  the  right  hand  opens,  and,  in  the  space  behind  it, 
appears,  as  before,  the  old  man  of  carmel,  sitting  at  a 
Table,  and  reading  in  a  large  Volume.  Three  deep  strokes 
of  a  bell  are  heard. 

old  man  of  carmel  {reading  with  a  loud  but  still  monotonous  voice). 
1  And  when  the  Lord  saw  Phosphoros  ' — 

Robert  (interrupting  him). 

Ha !  Again 
A  story  as  of  Baffometus  ? 

ADAM. 

Not  so. 
That  tale  of  theirs  was  but  some  poor  distortion 
Of  th'  outmost  image  of  our  Sanctuary. — 
Keep  silence  here  ;  and  see  thou  interrupt  not, 
By  too  bold  cavilling,  this  mystery. 

old  man  (reading). 
1  And  when  the  Lord  saw  Phosphoros  his  pride, 
Being  wroth  thereat,  he  cast  him  forth, 
And  shut  him  in  a  prison  called  Life  ; 
And  gave  him  for  a  Garment  earth  and  water, 
And  bound  him  straitly  in  four  Azure  Chains, 
And  pour'd  for  him  the  bitter  Cup  of  Fire. 
The  Lord  moreover  spake  :   Because  thou  hast  forgotten 
My  will,  I  yield  thee  to  the  Element, 
And  thou  shalt  be  his  slave,  and  have  no  longer 
Remembrance  of  thy  Birthplace  or  my  Name. 
And  sithence  thou  hast  sinn'd  against  me  by 
Thy  prideful  Thought  of  being  One  and  Somewhat, 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS   OF  WERNER.  117 

I  leave  with  thee  that  Thought  to  be  thy  whip, 
And  this  thy  weakness  for  a  Bit  and  Bridle  ; 
Till  once  a  .Saviour  from  the  Waters  rise, 
Who  shall  again  baptise  thee  in  my  bosom, 
That  so  thou  mayst  be  Naught  and  All. 

'  And  when  the  Lord  had  spoken,  lie  drew  back 
As  in  a  mighty  rushing  ;  and  the  Element 
Hose  up  around  Phosphoros,  and  tower'd  itself 
Aloft  to  Heav'n  ;  and  he  lay  stunn'd  beneath  it. 

1  But  when  his  lirst-born  Sister  saw  his  pain, 
Her  heart  was  full  of  sorrow,  and  she  turn'd  her 
To  the  Lord  ;  and  with  veil'd  face,  thus  spake  Mylitta:  l 
Pity  my  Brother,  and  let  me  console  him  ! 

'Then  did  the  Lord  in  pity  rend  asunder 
A  little  chink  in  Phosphoros  his  dungeon, 
That  so  he  might  behold  his  Sister's  face  ; 
And  when  she  silent  peep'd  into  his  Prison, 
She  left  with  him  a  Mirror  for  his  solace  ; 
And  when  he  look'd  therein,  his  earthly  Garment 
Pressed  him  less  ;  and,  like  the  gleam  of  morning, 
Some  faint  remembrance  of  his  Birthplace  dawn'd. 

'  But  yet  the  Azure  Chains  she  could  not  break, 
The  bitter  Cup  of  Fire  not  take  from  him. 
Therefore  she  pray'd  to  Mythras,  to  her  Father, 
To  save  his  youngest-born  ;   and  Mythras  went 
Up  to  the  footstool  of  the  Lord,  and  said  : 
Take  pity  on  my  Son  ! — Then  said  the  Lord  : 
Have  I  not  sent  Mylitta  that  he  may 
Behold  his  Birthplace  ? — Wherefore  Mythras  answer'd: 
What  profits  it  V     The  Chains  she  cannot  break, 
The  bitter  Cup  of  Fire  not  take  from  him. 
So  will  I,  said  the  Lord,  the  Salt  be  given  him, 
That  so  the  bitter  Cup  of  Fire  be  softened ; 
But  yet  the  Azure  Chains  must  lie  on  him 
Till  once  a  Saviour  rise  from  out  the  Waters. — 
And  when  the  Salt  was  laid  on  Phosphor's  tongue, 
The  Fire's  piercing  ceased  ;  but  th'  Element 
Congeal'd  the  Salt  to  Ice,  and  Phosphoros 
Lay  there  benumb'd,  and  had  not  power  to  move. 
But  Isis  saw  him,  and  thus  spake  the  Mother  : 

'  Thou  who  art  Father,  Strength,  and  Word  and  Light ! 
Shall  he  my  last-born  grandchild  lie  forever 

1  Mylitta,  in  the  old  Persian  mysteries,  was  the  name  of  the  Moon. 
Mythras  that  of  the  Sun. 


118  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WEUNER. 

In  pain,  the  down-pressed  thrall  of  his  rude  Brother  ? 

Then  had  the  Lord  compassion,  and  he  sent  him 

The  Herald  of  the  Saviour  from  the  Waters  ; 

The  Cup  of  Fluidness,  and  in  the  cup 

The  drops  of  Sadness  and  the  drops  of  Longing : 

And  then  the  Ice  was  thawed,  the  Fire  grew  cool, 

And  Phosphoros  again  had  room  to  hreathe. 

But  yet  the  earthy  Garment  cumber' d  him, 

The  Azure  Chains  still  gall'd,  and  the  Remembrance 

Of  the  Name,  the  Lord's,  which  he  had  lost,  was  wanting; 

'  Then  the  Mother's  heart  was  mov'd  with  pity, 
She  beckoned  the  Son  to  her,  and  said  : 
Thou  who  art  more  than  I,  and  yet  my  nursling, 
Put  on  this  Robe  of  Earth,  and  show  thyself 
To  fallen  Phosphoros  bound  in  the  dungeon, 
And  open  him  that  dungeon's  narrow  cover. 
Then  said  the  Word  :  It  shall  be  so !   and  sent 
His  messenger  Disease  ;  she  broke  the  roof 
Of  Phosphor's  Prison,  so  that  once  again 
The  Fount  of  Light  he  saw  :  the  Element 
Was  dazzled  blind  ;  but  1  hosphor  knew  his  Father. 
And  when  the  Word,  in  Earth,  came  to  the  Prison, 
The  Element  address'd  him  as  his  like  ; 
But  Phosphoros  look'd  up  to  him,  and  said  : 
Thou  art  sent  hither  to  redeem  from  Sin, 
Yet  thou  art  not  the  Saviour  from  the  Waters. — 
Then  spake  the  Word  :  The  Saviour  from  the  Waters 
I  surely  am  not ;  yet  when  thou  hast  drunk 
The  Cup  of  Fluidness,  I  will  redeem  thee. 
Then  Phosphor  drank  the  Cup  of  Fluidness, 
Of  Longing,  and  of  Sadness  ;  and  his  Garment 
Did  drop  sweet  drops  ;  wherewith  the  Messenger 
Of  the  Word  wash'd  all  his  Garment,  till  its  folds 
And  stiffness  vanished,  and  it  'gan  grow  light. 
And  when  the  Prison  Life  she  touch'd,  straightway 
It  waxed  thin  and  lucid  like  to  crystal. 
But  yet  the  Azure  Chains  she  could  not  break. — 
Then  did  the  Word  vouchsafe  him  the  Cup  of  Faith ; 
And  having  drunk  it,  Phosphoros  look'd  up, 
And  saw  the  Saviour  standing  in  the  Waters. 
Both  hands  the  Captive  stretch'd  to  grasp  that  Saviour ; 
But  he  fled. 

1  So  Phosphoros  was  griev'd  in  heart : 
But  yet  the  Word  spake  comfort,  giving  him 
The  Pillow  Patience,  there  to  lay  his  head. 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER.  119 

And  having  rested,  lie  rais'd  his  head,  and  said  : 

Wilt  thou  redeem  me  from  the  Prison  too  ? 

Then  said  the  Word  :   Wait  yet  in  peace  seven  moons, 

It  may  be  nine,  until  thy  hour  shall  come. 

And  Phosphor  answer 'd :   Lord,  thy  will  be  done  ! 

'  Which  when  the  mother  Isis  saw,  it  griev'd  her ; 
She  called  the  Rainbow  up,  and  said  to  him  : 
Go  thou  and  tell  the  Word  that  he  forgive 
The  Captive  these  seven  moons !     And  Rainbow  flew 
Where  he  was  sent  ;  and  as  he  shook  his  wings 
There  dropt  from  them  the  Oil  of  Purity  : 
And  this  the  Word  did  gather  in  a  Cup, 
And  cleans'd  with  it  the  Sinner's  head  and  bosom. 
TJien  passing  forth  iuto  his  Father's  Garden, 
He  breath'd  upon  the  ground,  and  there  arose 
A  flow'ret  out  of  it,  like  milk  and  rose-bloom  ; 
Which  having  wetted  with  the  dew  of  Rapture, 
He  crown'd  therewith  the  Captive's  brow  ;  then  grasped  him 
With  his  right,  hand,  the  Rainbow  with  the  left  ; 
Mylitta  likewise  with  hefr  Mirror  came, 
And  Phosphoros  looked  into  it,  and  saw 
Wrote  on  the  Azure  of  Infinity 
The  long-forgotten  Name,  and  the  Remembrance 
Of -his  Birthplace,  gleaming  as  in  light  of  gold. 

'  Then  fell  there  as  if  scales  from  Phosphor's  eyes ; 
He  left  the  Thought  of  being  One  and  Somewhat, 
His  nature  melted  in  the  mighty  All  ; 
Like  sighings  from  above  came  balmy  healing, 
So  that  his  heart  for  very  bliss  was  bursting. 
For  Chains  and  Garment  cumber' d  him  no  more: 
The  Garment  he  had  changed  to  royal  purple, 
And  of  his  Chains  were  fashion'd  glancing  jewels. 

'True,  still  the  Saviour  from  the  Waters  tarried; 
Yet  came  the  Spirit  over  him  ;  the  Lord 
Turn'd  towards  him  a  gracious  countenance, 
And  Isis  held  him  in  her  mother-arms. 

1  This  is  the  last  of  the  Evangels.' 

[TJie  door  closes,  and  again  conceals  the  old  man  op  carmel. 

The  purport  of  this  enigma  Robert  confesses  that  he  does 
not  '  wholly  understand  ; '  an  admission  in  which,  we  suspect, 
most  of  our  readers,  and  the  Old  Man  of  Carmel  himself, 
were  he  candid,  might  be  inclined  to  agree  with  him.  Some- 
times, in  the  deeper  consideration  which  translators  are  bound 


120  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER. 

to  bestow  on  such  extravagances,  we  have  fancied  we  could 
discern  in  this  apologue  some  glimmerings  of  meaning,  scat- 
tered here  and  there  like  weak  lamps  in  the  darkness :  not 
enough  to  interpret  the  riddle,  but  to  show  that  by  possibility- 
it  might  have  an  interpretation, — was  a  typical  vision,  with 
a  certain  degree  of  significance  in  the  wild  mind  of  the  poet, 
not  an  inane  fever-dream.  Might  not  Phosphoros,  for  ex- 
ample, indicate  generally  the  spiritual  essence  of  man,  and 
this  story  be  an  emblem  of  his  history  ?  He  longs  to  be 
1  One  and  Somewhat ; '  that  is,  he  labours  under  the  very 
common  complaint  of  egoism ;  cannot,  in  the  grandeur  of 
Beauty  and  Virtue,  forget  his  own  so  beautiful  and  viituous 
Self ;  but,  amid  the  glories  of  the  majestic  All,  is  still  haunted 
and  blinded  by  some  shadow  of  his  own  little  Me.  For  this 
reason  he  is  punished  ;  imprisoned  in  the  '  Element '  (of  a 
material  body),  and  has  the  'four  Azure  Chains'  (the  four 
principles  of  matter)  bound  round  him  ;  so  that  he  can  neither 
think  nor  act,  except  in  a  foreign  medium,  and  under  con- 
ditions that  encumber  and  confuse  him.  The  '  Cup  of  Fire  ' 
is  given  him ;  perhaps,  the  rude,  barbarous  passion  and 
cruelty  natural  to  all  uncultivated  tribes  ?  But,  at  length,  he 
beholds  the  '  Moon  ; '  begins  to  have  some  sight  and  love  of 
material  Nature  ;  and,  looking  into  her  '  Mirror,'  forms  to 
himself,  under  gross  emblems,  a  theogony  and  sort  of  mytho- 
logic  poetry ;  in  which,  if  he  still  cannot  behold  the  '  Name,' 
and  has  forgotten  his  own  'Birthplace,'  both  of  which  are 
blotted  out  and  hidden  by  the  '  Element,'  he  finds  some 
spiritual  solace,  and  breathes  more  freely.  Still,  however,  the 
'  Cup  of  Fire  '  tortures  him  ;  till  the  '  Salt '  (intellectual  cul- 
ture ?)  is  vouchsafed  ;  which,  indeed,  calms  the  raging  of  that 
furious  bloodthirstiness  and  warlike  strife,  but  leaves  him,  as 
mere  culture  of  the  understanding  may  be  supposed  to  do, 
frozen  into  irreligion  and  moral  inactivity,  and  farther  from 
the  '  Name  '  and  his  '  own  Original '  than  ever.  Then,  is  the 
'  Cup  of  Fluidness '  a  more  merciful  disposition  ?  and  in- 
tended, with  '  the  Drops  of  Sadness  and  the  Drops  of  Long- 
ing,' to  shadow  forth  that  woestruck,  desolate,  yet  softer  and 
devouter  state  in  which  mankind  displayed  itself  at  the  com- 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER.  121 

ing  of  the  '  Word,'  at  the  first  promulgation  of  the  Christian 
religion  ?  Is  the  '  Rainbow '  the  modern  poetry  of  Europe, 
the  Chivalry,  the  new  form  of  Stoicism,  the  whole  romantic 
feeling  of  these  later  days  ?  But  who  or  what  the  '  Heiland 
aus  den  Wassern '  (Saviour  from  the  Waters)  may  be,  we  need 
not  hide  our  native  ignorance  ;  this  being  apparently  a  secret 
of  the  Valley,  which  Robert  d'Heredon,  and  Werner,  and  men 
of  like  gifts,  are  in  due  time  to  show  the  world,  but  unhap- 
pily have  not  yet  succeeded  in  bringing  to  light.  Perhaps, 
indeed,  our  whole  interpretation  may  be  thought  little  better 
than  lost  labour ;  a  reading  of  what  was  only  scrawled  and 
flourished,  not  written  ;  a  shaping  of  gay  castles  and  metallic 
palaces  from  the  sunset  clouds,  which,  though  mountain-like, 
and  purple  and  golden  of  hue,  and  towered  together  as  if  by 
Cyclopean  arms,  are  but  dyed  vapour. 

Adam  of  Valincourt  continues  his  exposition  in  the  most 
liberal  way  ;  but,  through  many  pages  of  metrical  lecturing, 
he  does  little  to  satisfy  us.  What  was  more  to  his  purpose, 
he  partly  succeeds  in  satisfying  Robert  d'Heredon  ;  who,  after 
due  preparation, — Molay  being  burnt  like  a  martyr,  under  the 
most  promising  omens,  and  the  Pope  and  the  King  of  France 
struck  dead,  or  nearly  so, — sets  out  to  found  the  order  of  St. 
Andrew  in  his  own  country,  that  of  Calatrava  in  Spain,  and 
other  knightly  missions  of  the  Heiland  aits  den  Wassern  else- 
where ;  and  thus,  to  the  great  satisfaction  of  all  parties,  the 
Sons  of  the  Valley  terminates,  'positively  for  the  last  time.' 

Our  reader  may  have  already  convinced  himself  that  in  this 
strange  phantasmagoria  there  are  not  wanting  indications  of 
a  very  high  poetic  talent.  We  see  a  mind  of  great  depth,  if 
not  of  sufficient  strength  ;  struggling  with  objects  which, 
though  it  cannot  master  them,  are  essentially  of  richest  sig- 
nificance. Had  the  writer  only  kept  his  piece  till  the  ninth 
year  ;  meditating  it  with  true  diligence  and  unwearied  will ! 
But  the  weak  Werner  was  not  a  man  for  such  things :  he 
must  reap  the  harvest  on  the  morrow  after  seed-day,  and  so 
stands  before  us  at  last,  as  a  man  capable  of  much,  only  not 
of  bringing  aught  to  perfection. 

Of  his  natural  dramatic  genius,  this  work,  ill-concocted  as 


122  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER. 

it  is,  affords  no  unfavourable  specimen  ;  and  may,  indeed,  have 
justified  expectations  which  were  never  realised.  It  is  true,  he 
cannot  yet  give  form  and  animation  to  a  character,  in  the  genu- 
ine poetic  sense  ;  we  do  not  see  any  of  his  dramatis  per  sonce,  but 
only  hear  of  them  :  yet,  in  some  cases,  his  endeavour,  though 
imperfect,  is  by  no  means  abortive  ;  and  here,  for  instance, 
Jacques  Molay,  Philip  Adalbert,  Hugo,  and  the  like,  though 
not  living  men,  have  still  as  much  life  as  many  a  buff-and- 
scarlet  Sebastian  or  Barbarossa,  whom  we  find  swaggering, 
for  years,  with  acceptance,  on  the  boards.  Of  his  spiritual 
beings,  whom  in  most  of  his  Plays  he  introduces  too  profusely, 
we  cannot  speak  in  commendation  :  they  are  of  a  mongrel 
nature,  neither  rightly  dead  nor  alive  ;  in  fact,  they  sometimes 
glide  about  like  real,  though  rather  singular  mortals,  through 
the  whole  piece  ;  and  only  vanish  as  ghosts  in  the  fifth  act. 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  in  contriving  theatrical  incidents  and 
sentiments  ;  in  scenic  shows,  and  all  manner  of  gorgeous, 
frightful  or  astonishing  machinery,  Werner  exhibits  a  copious 
invention,  and  strong  though  untutored  feeling.  Doubtless, 
it  is  all  crude  enough  ;  all  illuminated  by  an  impure,  barbaric 
splendour  ;  not  the  soft,  peaceful  brightness  of  sunlight,  but 
the  red,  resinous  glare  of  playhouse  torches.  Werner,  how- 
ever, was  still  young ;  and  had  he  been  of  a  right  spirit,  all 
that  was  impure  and  crude  might  in  time  have  become  ripe 
and  clear  ;  and  a  poet  of  no  ordinary  excellence  would  have 
been  moulded  out  of  him. 

But,  as  matters  stood,  this  was  by  no  means  the  thing 
Werner  had  most  at  heart.  It  is  not  the  degree  of  poetic 
talent  manifested  in  the  Sons  of  the  Valley  that  he  prizes, 
but  the  religious  truth  shadowed  forth  in  it.  To  judge  from 
the  j^arables  of  Baffometus  and  Phosjmoros,  our  readers  may  be 
disposed  to  hold  his  revelations  on  this  subject  rather  cheap. 
Nevertheless,  taking  up  the  character  of  Vates  in  its  widest 
sense,  Werner  earnestly  desires  not  only  to  be  a  poet  but  a 
prophet  ;  and,  indeed,  looks  upon  his  merits  in  the  former 
province  as  altogether  subservient  to  his  higher  purposes  in 
the  latter.  We  have  a  series  of  the  most  confused  and  long- 
winded  letters  to  Hitzig,  who  had  now  removed  to  Berlin  ; 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS   OF  WERNER.  123 

setting  forth,  with  a  singular  simplicity,  the  mighty  projects 
Werner  was  cherishing  on  this  head.  He  thinks  that  there 
ought  to  be  a  new  Creed  promulgated,  a  new  Body  of  Re- 
'  ligionists  established  ;  and  that,  for  this  purpose,  not  writing, 
but  actual  preaching,  can  avail.  He  detests  common  Protest- 
antism, under  which  he  seems  to  mean  a  sort  of  Socinianism, 
or  diluted  French  Infidelity  :  he  talks  of  Jacob  Bohme,  and 
Luther,  and  Schleiermacher,  and  a  new  Trinity  of  '  Art,  Re- 
ligion and  Love.'  All  this  should  be  sounded  in  the  ears  of 
men,  and  in  a  loud  voice,  that  so  their  torpid  slumber,  the 
harbinger  of  spiritual  death,  may  be  driven  away.  With  the 
utmost  gravity,  he  commissions  his  correspondent  to  wait 
upon  Schlegel,  Tieck  and  others  of  a  like  spirit,  and  see 
whether  they  will  not  join  him.  For  his  own  share  in  the 
matter,  he  is  totally  indifferent  ;  will  serve  in  the  meanest 
capacity,  and  rejoice  with  his  whole  heart,  if,  in  zeal  and 
ability  as  poets  and  preachers,  not  some  only,  but  every  one 
should  infinitely  outstrip  him.  We  suppose,  he  had  dropped 
the  thought  of  being  '  One  and  Somewhat ; '  and  now  wished, 
rapt  away  by  this  divine  purpose,  to  be  '  Naught  and  All.' 

On  the  Heiland  aus  den  Wassern  this  correspondence  throws 
no  farther  light :  what  the  new  Creed  specially  was,  Avhich 
WTerner  felt  so  eager  to  plant  and  propagate,  we  nowhere 
learn  with  an}7  distinctness.  Probably,  he  might  himself 
have  been  rather  at  a  loss  to  explain  it  in  brief  compass. 
His  theogony,  we  suspect,  was  still  very  much  in  posse ;  and 
perhaps  only  the  moral  part  of  this  system  could  stand  before 
him  with  some  degree  of  clearness.  On  this  latter  point, 
indeed,  he  is  determined  enough  ;  well  assured  of  his  do^-- 
mas,  and  apparently  waiting  but  for  some  proper  vehicle  in 
which  to  convey  them  to  the  minds  of  men.  His  funda- 
mental principle  of  morals  we  have  seen  in  part  already  ;  it 
does  not  exclusively  or  primarily  belong  to  himself ;  being- 
little  more  than  that  high  tenet  of  entire  Self-forge tfulness, 
that '  merging  of  the  Me  in  the  Idea  ; '  a  principle  which  reigns 
both  in  Stoical  and  Christian  ethics,  and  is  at  this  day  com- 
mon, in  theory,  among  all  German  philosophers,  especially  of 
the  Transcendental  class.     Werner  has  adopted  this  princi- 


124  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER. 

pie  with  his  whole  heart  and  his  whole  soul,  as  the  indis- 
pensable condition  of  all  Virtue.  He  believes  it,  we  should 
say,  intensely,  and  without  compromise,  exaggerating  rather 
than  softening  or  concealing  its  peculiarities.  He  will  not 
have  Happiness,  under  any  form,  to  be  the  real  or  chief  end 
of  man  :  this  is  but  love  of  enjoyment,  disguise  it  as  we  like  ; 
a  more  complex  and  sometimes  more  resj)ectable  species  of 
hunger,  he  would  say  ;  to  be  admitted  as  an  indestructible 
element  in  human  nature,  but  nowise  to  be  recognised  as 
the  highest  ;  on  the  contrary,  to  be  resisted  and  incessantly 
warred  with,  till  it  become  obedient  to  love  of  God,  which  is 
only,  in  the  truest  sense,  love  of  Goodness,  and  the  germ  of 
which  lies  deep  in  the  inmost  nature  of  man  ;  of  authority 
superior  to  all  sensitive  impulses  ;  forming,  in  fact,  the  grand 
law  of  his  being,  as  subjection  to  it  forms  the  first  and 
last  condition  of  spiritual  health.  He  thinks  that  to  pro- 
pose a  reward  for  virtue  is  to  render  virtue  impossible.  He 
warmly  seconds  Schleiermacher  in  declaring  that  even  the 
hope  of  Immortality  is  a  consideration  unfit  to  be  introduced 
into  religion,  and  tending  only  to  pervert  it,  and  impair  its 
sacredness.  Strange  as  this  may  seem,  Werner  is  firmly  con- 
vinced of  its  importance  ;  and  has  even  enforced  it  specifically 
in  a  passage  of  his  Sohne  des  Thais,  which  he  is  at  the  pains 
to  cite  and  expound  in  his  correspondence  with  Hitzig.  Here 
is  another  fraction  of  that  wondrous  dialogue  betwreen  Robert 
d'Heredon  and  Adam  of  Valincourt,  in  the  cavern  of  the  Volley  : 

****** 

ROBERT. 

And  Death,  —  so  dawns  it  on  me, — Death  perhaps, 

The  doom  that  leaves  naught  of  this  Me  remaining, 

May  be  perhaps  the  Symbol  of  that  Self-denial, — 

Perhaps  still  more, — perhaps, — I  have  it,  friend  ! — 

That  cripplish  Immortality,  think'st  not  ? — 

Which  but  spins  forth  our  paltry  Me,  so  thin 

And  pitiful,  into  Infinitude, 

TJmt  too  must  die? — This  shallow  Self  of  ours, 

We  are  not  nail'd  to  it  eternally  ? 

We  can,  we  must  be  free  of  it,  and  then 

Uncumbered  wanton  in  the  Force  of  All  ! 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS   OF  WERNER.  125 

adam  {calling  joyfully  into  the  interior  of  the  Cavern). 
Brethren,  he  has  renounced  !     Himself  has  found  it ! 
O,  praised  be  Light !     He  sees  !     The  North  is  sav'd  ! 

CONCEALED  VOICES  of  the  OLD  MEN  OF  THE  VALLEY. 

Hail  and  joy  to  thee,  thou  Strong  One  ; 
Force  to  thee  from  above,  and  Light ! 
Complete, — complete  the  work  ! 

adam  {embracing  Robert). 
Come  to  my  heart ! — &c.  &c. 

Such  was  the  spirit  of  that  new  Faith,  which,  symbolised 
under  mythuses  of  BaiTometus  and  Phosphoros,  and  '  Saviours 
from  the  Waters,'  and  '  Trinities  of  Art,  Religion  and  Love,' 
and  to  be  preached  abroad  by  the  aid  of  Schleiermacher,  and 
what  was  then  called  the  New  Poetical  School,  Werner  seriously 
proposed,  like  another  Luther,  to  cast  forth,  as  good  seed, 
among  the  ruins  of  decayed  and  down-trodden  Protestantism  ! 
Whether  Hitzig  was  still  young  enough  to  attempt  executing 
bis  commission,  and  applying  to  Schlegel  and  Tieck  for  help  ; 
and  if  so,  in  what  gestures  of  speechless  astonishment,  or 
what  peals  of  inextinguishable  laughter  they  answered  him, 
we  are  not  informed.  One  thing,  however,  is  clear  :  that  a 
man  with  so  unbridled  an  imagination,  joined  to  so  weak  an 
understanding,  and  so  broken  a  volition  ;  who  had  plunged 
so  deep  in  Theosophy,  and  still  hovered  so  near  the  surface  in 
all  practical  knowledge  of  men  and  their  affairs  ;  who,  shat- 
tered and  degraded  in  his  own  private  character,  could  medi- 
tate such  apostolic  enterprises, — was  a  man  likely,  if  he  lived 
long,  to  play  fantastic  tricks  in  abundance  ;  and,  at  least  in 
his  religious  history,  to  set  the  world  a-wondering.  Conver- 
sion, not  to  Popery,  but,  if  it  so  chanced,  to  Braminism,  was 
a  thing  nowise  to  be  thought  impossible. 

Nevertheless,  let  his  missionary  zeal  have  justice  from  us. 
It  does  seem  to  have  been  grounded  on  no  wicked  or  even 
illaudable  motive  :  to  all  appearance,  he  not  only  believed 
what  he  professed,  but  thought  it  of  the  highest  moment  that 
others  should  believe  it.  And  if  the  proselytising  spirit,  which 
dwells  in  all  men,  be  allowed  exercise  even  when  it  only  as- 
saults what  it  reckons  Errors,  still  more  should  this  be  so, 


126  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER. 

when  it  proclaims  what  it  reckons  Truth,  and  fancies  itself  not 
taking  from  us  what  in  our  eyes  may  be  good,  but  adding 
thereto  what  is  better. 

Meanwhile,  Werner  was  not  so  absorbed  in  spiritual 
schemes,  that  he  altogether  overlooked  his  own  merely  tem- 
poral comfort.  In  contempt  of  former  failures,  he  was  now 
courting  for  himself  a  third  wife,  '  a  young  Poless  of  the 
highest  personal  attractions  ; '  and  this  under  difficulties 
which  would  have  appalled  an  ordinary  wooer :  for  the  two 
had  no  language  in  common  ;  he  not  understanding  three 
words  of  Polish,  she  not  one  of  German.  Nevertheless,  noth- 
ing daunted  by  this  circumstance,  nay  perhaps  discerning 
in  it  an  assurance  against  many  a  sorrowful  curtain-lecture, 
he  prosecuted  his  suit,  we  suppose  by  signs  and  dumb-show, 
with  such  ardour,  that  he  quite  gained  the  fair  mute  ;  wedded 
her  in  1801  ;  and  soon  after,  in  her  company,  quitted  War- 
saw for  Konigsberg,  where  the  helpless  state  of  his  mother 
required  immediate  attention.  It  is  from  Konigsberg  that 
most  of  his  missionary  epistles  to  Hitzig  are  written  ;  the  lat- 
ter, as  Ave  have  hinted  before,  being  now  stationed,  by  his 
official  appointment,  in  Berlin.  The  sad  duty  of  watching 
over  his  crazed,  forsaken  and  dying  mother,  Werner  appears 
to  have  discharged  with  true  filial  assiduity  :  for  three  years 
she  lingered  in  tlfe  most  painful  state,  under  his  nursing ; 
and  her  death,  in  1804,  seems  notwithstanding  to  have  filled 
him  with  the  deepest  sorrow.  This  is  an  extract  of  his  letter 
to  Hitzig  on  that  mournful  occasion : 

'  I  know  not  whether  thou  hast  heard  that  on  the  24th  of 
February  (the  same  day  when  our  excellent  Mnioch  died  in 
Warsaw),  my  mother  departed  here,  in  my  arms.  My  Friend  ! 
God  knocks  with  an  iron  hammer  at  our  hearts  ;  and  we  are 
duller  than  stone,  if  we  do  not  feel  it ;  and  madder  than  mad, 
if  we  think  it  shame  to  cast  ourselves  into  the  dust  before  the 
All-powerful,  and  let  our  whole  so  highly  miserable  Self  be 
annihilated  in  the  sentiment  of  His  infinite  greatness  and 
long-suffering.  I  wish  I  had  words  to  paint  how  inexpressi- 
bly pitiful  my  Sohne  des  Thais  appeared  to  me  in  that  hour, 
when,  after  eighteen  years  of  neglect,  I  again  went  to  partake 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER.  127 

in  the  Communion  !  This  death  of  my  mother, — the  pure 
royal  poet-and-martyr  spirit,  who  for  eight  years  had  lain 
continually  on  a  sick-bed,  and  suffered  unspeakable  tilings, — 
affected  me  (much  as,  for  her  sake  and  my  own,  I  could  not 
but  wish  it)  with  altogether  agonising  feelings.  Ah,  Friend, 
how  heavy  do  my  youthful  faults  lie  on  me  !  How  much 
would  I  give  to  have  my  mother — (though  both  I  and  my 
wife  have  of  late  times  lived  wholly  for  her,  and  had  much  to 
endure  on  her  account) — how  much  would  I  give  to  have  her 
back  to  me  but  for  one  week,  that  I  might  disburden  my 
heavy-laden  heart  with  tears  of  repentance  !  My  beloved 
Friend,  give  thou  no  grief  to  thy  parents :  ah,  no  earthly 
voice  can  awaken  the  dead !  God  and  Parents,  that  is  the 
first  concern  ;  all  else  is  secondary.' 

This  affection  for  his  mother  forms,  as  it  were,  a  little 
island  of  light  and  verdure  in  Werner's  history,  where,  amid 
so  much  that  is  dark  and  desolate,  one  feels  it  pleasant  to 
linger.  Here  was  at  least  one  duty,  perhaps  indeed  the  only 
one,  which,  in  a  wayward  wasted  life,  he  discharged  with 
fidelity  :  from  his  conduct  towards  this  one  hapless  being,  we 
may  perhaps  still  learn  that  his  heart,  however  perverted  by 
circumstances,  was  not  incapable  of  true,  disinterested  love. 
A  rich  heart  by  Nature  ;  but  unwisely  squandering  its  riches, 
and  attaining  to  a  pure  union  only  with  this  one  heart ;  for  it 
seems  doubtful  whether  he  ever  loved  another  !  His  poor 
mother,  while  alive,  was  the  haven  of  all  his  earthly  voyag- 
ings ;  and,  in  after  years,  from  amid  far  scenes  and  crushing 
perplexities,  he  often  looks  back  to  her  grave  with  a  feeling, 
to  which  all  bosoms  must  respond. '     The  date  of  her  decease 

1  See,  for  example,  the  Preface  to  his  Mutter  der  Mackabaer,  written 
at  Vienna,  in  1819.  The  tone  of  still,  but  deep  and  heartfelt  sadness, 
which  runs  through  the  whole  of  this  piece,  cannot  he  communicated 
in  extracts.  We  quote  only  a  half  stanza,  which,  except  in  prose,  we 
shall  not  venture  to  translate  : 

'  Ich,  dem  der  Liebe  Kosen 
Und  alle  Freudenrosen, 
Beym  ersten  Schmifeltosen 
Am  MuttergraV  entflohnS— 

1 1,  for  whom  the  caresses  of  love  and  all  roses  of  joy  withered  away, 
as  the  first  shovel  with  its  mould  sounded  on  the  coflin  of  my  mother.' 


128  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS   OF  WERNER 

became  a  memorable  era  in  his  mind  ;  as  may  appear  from 
the  title  which  he  gave,  long  afterwards,  to  one  of  his  most 
popular  and  tragical  productions,  Die  Vier-und-zwanzigste 
Februar  (The  Twenty-fourth  of  February). 

After  this  event,  which  left  him  in  possession  of  a  small  but 
competent  fortune,  Werner  returned  with  his  wife  to  his  post 
at  Warsaw.  By  this  time,  Hitzig  too  had  been  sent  back, 
and  to  a  higher  post :  he  was  row  married  likewise  ;  and  the 
two  wives,  he  says,  soon  became  as  intimate  as  their  husbands. 
In  a  little  while  Hoffmann  joined  them  ;  a  colleague  in  Hitzig's 
office,  and  by  him  ere  long  introduced  to  Werner,  and  the 
other  circle  of  Prussian  men  of  law  ;  who,  in  this  foreign  cap- 
ital, formed  eack  other's  chief  society ;  and,  of  course,  clave 
to  one  another  more  closely  than  they  might  have  done  else- 
where. Hoffmann  does  not  seem  to  have  loved  Werner ;  as, 
indeed,  he  was  at  all  times  rather  shy  in  his  attachments ; 
and  to  his  quick  eye,  and  more  rigid  fastidious  feeling,  the 
lofty  theory  and  low  selfish  practice,  the  general  diffuseness, 
nay,  incoherence  of  character,  the  pedantry  and  solemn  af- 
fectation, too  visible  in  the  man,  could  nowise  be  hidden. 
Nevertheless,  he  feels  and  acknowledges  the  frequent  charm 
of  his  conversation  :  for  Werner  many  times  could  be  frank 
and  simple  ;  and  the  true  humour  and  abandonment  with 
which  he  often  launched  forth  into  bland  satire  on  his  friends, 
and  still  oftener  on  himself,  atoned  for  many  of  his  whims  and 
weaknesses.  Probably  the  two  could  not  have  lived  together 
by  themselves :  but  in  a  circle  of  common  men,  where  these 
touchy  elements  were  attempered  by  a  fair  addition  of  whole- 
some insensibilities  and  formalities,  they  even  relished  one 
another ;  and,  indeed,  the  whole  social  union  seems  to  have 
stood  on  no  undesirable  footing.  For  the  rest,  Warsaw  itself 
was,  at  this  time,  a  gay,  picturesque  and  stirring  city ;  full 
of  resources  for  spending  life  in  pleasant  occupation,  either 
wisely  or  unwisely.1 

1  Hitzig  has  thn»  described  the  first  aspect  it  presented  to  Hoffmann  : 
'  Streets  of  statelj  breadth,  formed  of  palaces  in  the  finest  Italian  style, 
'and  wooden  huts  which  threatened  every  moment  to  rush  down  over 
'  the  heads  of  their  inmates;  in  these  edifices,  Asiatic  pomp  combined 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER.  120 

It  was  here  that,  in  1805,  Werner's  Kreuz  an  der  Ostsee 
(Cross  on  the  Baltic)  was  written  :  a  sort  of  half-operatic  per- 
formance, for  which  Hoffmann,  who  to  his  gifts  as  a  writer 
added  perhaps  still  higher  attainments  both  as  a  musician 
and  a  painter,  composed  the  accompaniment.  He  complains 
that,  in  this  matter,  Werner  was  very  ill  to  please.  A  ridicu- 
lous scene,  at  the  first  reading  of  the  piece,  the  same  shrewd 
wag  has  recorded  in  his  Serapions-Brilder  :  Hitzig  assures  us 
that  it  is  literally  true,  and  that  Hoffmann  himself  was  the 
main  actor  in  the  business. 

'  Our  Poet  had  invited  a  few  friends,  to  read  to  them,  in 
manuscript,  his  Kreuz  an  der  Odsee,  of  which  they  already 
knew  some  fragments  that  had  raised  their  expectations  to 
the  highest  stretch.  Planted,  as  usual,  in  the  middle  of  the 
circle,  at  a  little  miniature  table,  on  which  two  clear  lights, 
stuck  in  high  candlesticks,  were  burning,  sat  the  Poet :  he  had 
drawn  the  manuscript  from  his  breast  ;  the  huge  snuff-box, 
the  blue-checked  handkerchief,  aptly  reminding  you  of  Baltic 
muslin,  as  in  use  for  petticoats  and  other  indispensable  things, 
lay  arranged  in  order  before  him. — Deep  silence  on  all  sides  ! 
— Not  a  breath  heard  ! — The  Poet  cuts  one  of  those  unpar- 
alleled,  ever-memorable,  altogether   indescribable   faces  you 

'in  strange  union  with  Greenland  squalor.  An  ever-moving  population, 
'  forming  the  sharpest  contrasts,  as  in  a  perpetual  masquerade :  long- 
'  bearded  Jews  ;  monks  in  the  garb  of  every  order  ;  here  veiled  and 
'  deeply-shrouded  nuns  of  strictest  discipline,  walking  self-secluded 
'  and  apart ;  there  flights  of  young  Polesses,  in  silk  mantles  of  the  bright- 
'  est  colours,  talking  and  promenading  over  broad  squares.  The  vener- 
'  able  ancient  Polish  noble,  with- moustaches,  caftan,  girdle,  sabre,  and 
'  red  or  yellow  boots  ;  the  new  generation  equipt  to  the  utmost  pitch  as 
'Parisian  Incroyables  ;  with  Turks,  Greeks,  Russians,  Italians,  French- 
'  men,  in  ever-changing  throng.  Add  to  this  a  police  of  inconceivable 
'  tolerance,  disturbing  no  popular  sport ;  so  that  little  puppet-theatres, 
'  apes,  camels,  dancing-bears,  practised  incessantly  in  open  spaces  and 
'streets;  while  the  most  elegant  equipages,  and  the  poorest  pedestrian 
'  bearers  of  burden,  stood  gazing  at  them.  Farther,  a  theatre  in  tbe 
'  national  language  ;  a  good  French  company  ;  an  Italian  opera ;  Ger- 
'  man  players  of  at  least  a  very  passable  sort ;  masked-balls  on  a  quite 
'  original  but  highly  entertaining  plan  ;  places  for  pleasure-excursions 
'  all  round  the  city,'  &c.  &c. — Hoffmann's  Leben  und  NacJdass,  b. 
i.  s.  287. 

9 


130  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER. 

have  seen  in  him,  and  begins. — Now  you  recollect,  at  the 
rising  of  the  curtain,  the  Prussians  are  assembled  on  the 
coast  of  the  Baltic,  fishing  amber,  and  commence  by  calling 
on  the  god  who  presides  over  this  vocation. — So  begins  : 

Bangputtis  !  Bangputtis  !  Bangputtis  ! 

— Brief  pause  ! — Incipient  stare  in  the  audience  ! — and  from 
a  fellow  in  the  corner  comes  a  small  clear  voice:  :'My  dear- 
est, most  valued  friend  !  my  best  of  poets  !  If  thy  whole  dear 
opera  is  written  in  that  cursed  language,  no  soul  of  us  knows 
a  syllable  of  it ;  and  I  beg,  in  the  Devil's  name,  thou  wouldst 
have  the  goodness  to  translate  it  first !  "  ' l 

Of  this  Kreuz  an  der  Ostsee  our  limits  will  permit  us  to  say 
but  little.  It  is  still  a  fragment ;  the  Second  Part,  which  was 
often  promised,  and,  we  believe,  partly  written,  having  never 
yet  been  published.  In  some  respects,  it  appears  to  us  the 
best  of  "Werner's  dramas  :  there  is  a  decisive  coherence  in  the 
plot,  such  as  we  seldom  find  with  him  ;  and  a  firmness,  a 
rugged  nervous  brevity  in  the  dialogue,  which  is  equally  rare. 
Here,  too,  the  mystic  dreamy  agencies,  which,  as  in  most  of 
his  pieces,  he  has  interwoven  with  the  action,  harmonise  more 
than  usually  with  the  spirit  of  the  whole.  It  is  a  wild  subject, 
and  this  helps  to  give  it  a  corresponding  wildness  of  locality. 
The  first  planting  of  Christianity  among  the  Prussians,  by  the 
Teutonic  Knights,  leads  us  back  of  itself  into  dim  ages  of 
antiquity,  of  superstitious  barbarism,  and  stern  apostolic  zeal : 
it  is  a  scene  hanging,  as  it  were,  in  half-ghastly  chiaroscuro, 
on  a  ground  of  primeval  Night  :  where  the  Cross  and  St. 
Adalbert  come  in  contact  with  the  Sacred  Oak  and  the  Idols 
of  Komova,  we  are  not  surprised  that  spectral  shapes  peer 
forth  on  us  from  the  gloom. 

In  constructing  and  depicting  of  characters,  Werner,  in- 
deed, is  still  little  better  than  a  mannerist :  his  persons, 
differing  in  external  figure,  differ  too  slightly  in  inward  nat- 
ure ;  and  no  one  of  them  comes  forward  on  us  with  a  rightly 
visible  or  living  air.  Yet,  in  scenes  and  incidents,  in  what 
may  be  called  the  general  costume  of  his  subject,  he  has  here 
attained  a  really  superior  excellence.  The  savage  Prussians, 
1  Hoffmann's  Serajrions-Brihder,  b.  iv.  s.  240. 


V 


LIFE  AND   WRITINGS  OF  WERNER  131 

with  their  amber-fishing,  their  bear-hunting,  their  bloody 
idolatry  and  stormful  untutored  energy,  are  brought  vividly 
into  view ;  no  less  so  the  Polish  Court  of  Plozk,  and  the 
German  Crusaders,  in  their  bridal-feasts  and  battles,  as  they 
live  and  move,  here  placed  on  the  verge  of  Heathendom,  as  it 
were,  the  vanguard  of  Light  in  conflict  with  the  kingdom  of 
Darkness.  The  nocturnal  assault  on  Plozk  by  the  Prussians, 
where  the  handful  of  Teutonic  Knights  is  overpowered,  but 
the  city  saved  from  ruin  by  the  miraculous  interposition  of 
the  'Harper,' who  now  proves  to  be  the  Spirit  of  St.  Adal- 
bert ;  this,  with  the  scene  which  follows  it,  on  the  Island  of 
the  Vistula,  where  the  dawn  slowly  breaks  over  doings  of  woe 
and  horrid  cruelty,  but  of  woe  and  cruelty  atoned  for  by  im- 
mortal hope, — belong  undoubtedly  to  Werner's  most  suc- 
cessful efforts.  With  much  that  is  questionable,  much  that  is 
merely  common,  there  are  intermingled  touches  from  the  true 
Land  of  Wonders  ;  indeed,  the  whole  is  overspread  with  a 
certain  dim  religious  light,  in  which  its  many  pettinesses  and 
exaggerations  are  softened  into  something  which  at  least  re- 
sembles poetic  harmony.  We  give  this  drama  a  high  praise, 
when  we  say  that  more  than  once  it  has  reminded  us  of 
Calderon. 

The  '  Cross  on  the  Baltic '  had  been  bespoken  by  Inland, 
for  the  Berlin  theatre  ;  but  the  complex  machinery  of  the 
piece,  the  '  little  flames '  springing,  at  intervals,  from  the 
heads  of  certain  characters,  and  the  other  supernatural  ware 
with  which  it  is  replenished,  were  found  to  transcend  the 
capabilities  of  any  merely  terrestrial  stage.  Inland,  the  best 
actor  in  Germany,  was  himself  a  dramatist,  and  man  of 
talent,  but  in  all  points  differing  from  Werner,  as  a  stage- 
machinist  may  differ  from  a  man  with  the  second-sight.  Hoff- 
mann chuckles  in  secret  over  the  perplexities  in  which  the 
shrewd  prosaic  manager  and  playwright  must  have  found 
himself,  when  he  came  to  the  'little  flame.'  Nothing  re- 
mained but  to  write  back  a  refusal,  full  of  admiration  and 
expostulation  :  and  Inland  wrote  one  which,  says  Hoffmann, 
'  passes  for  a  masterpiece  of  theatrical  diplomacy.' 

In  this  one  respect,  at  least,  Werner's  next  play  was  happier, 


132  LIFE  AND   WRITINGS  OF  WERNER 

for  it  actually  crossed  the  '  Stygian  marsh '  of  green-room  hesi- 
tations, and  reached,  though  in  a  maimed  state,  the  Elysium 
of  the  boards  ;  and  this  to  the  great  joy,  as  it  proved,  both  of 
Inland  and  all  other  parties  interested.  We  allude  to  the 
Martin  Luther,  oder  die  Weihe  der  Kraft  (Martin  Luther,  or 
the  Consecration  of  Strength),  Werner's  most  popular  per- 
formance ;  which  came  out  at  Berlin  in  1807,  and  soon  spread 
over  all  Germany,  Catholic  as  well  as  Protestant ;  being  actsd, 
it  would  seem,  even  in  Vienna,  to  overflowing  and  delighted 
audiences. 

If  instant  acceptance,  therefore,  were  a  measure  of  dramatic 
merit,  this  j)lay  should  rank  high  among  that  class  of  works. 
Nevertheless,  to  judge  from  our  own  impressions,  the  sober 
reader  of  Martin  Luther  will  be  far  from  finding  in  it  such  ex- 
cellence. It  cannot  be  named  among  the  best  dramas :  it  is 
not  even  the  best  of  Werner's.  There  is,  indeed,  much  scenic 
exhibition,  many  a  '  fervid  sentiment,'  as  the  newspapers 
have  it ;  nay,  with  all  its  mixture  of  coarseness,  here  and  there 
a  glimpse  of  genuine  dramatic  inspiration  :  but,  as  a  whole, 
the  work  sorely  disappoints  us  ;  it  is  of  so  loose  and  mixed  a 
structure,  and  falls  asunder  in  our  thoughts,  like  the  iron  and 
the  clay  in  the  Chaldean's  Dream.  There  is  an  interest,  per- 
haps of  no  trivial  sort,  awakened  in  the  First  Act ;  but,  un- 
happily, it  goes  on  declining,  till,  in  the  Fifth,  an  ill-natured 
critic  might  almost  say,  it  expires.  The  story  is  too  wide  for 
Werner's  dramatic  lens  to  gather  into  a  focus  ;  besides,  the 
reader  brings  with  him  an  image  of  it,  too  fixed  for  being  so 
boldly  metamorphosed,  and  too  high  and  august  for  being  or- 
namented with  tinsel  and  gilt  pasteboard.  Accordingly,  the 
Diet  of  Worms,  plentifully  furnished  as  it  is  with  sceptres  and 
armorial  shields,  continues  a  much  grander  scene  in  History 
than  it  is  here  in  Fiction.  Neither,  with  regard  to  the  per- 
sons of  the  play,  excepting  those  of  Luther  and  Catharine, 
the  Nun  whom  he  weds,  can  we  find  much  scope  for  praise. 
Nay,  our  praise  even  of  these  two  must  have  many  limita- 
tions. Catharine,  though  carefully  enough  depicted,  is,  in 
fact,  little  more  than  a  common  tragedy-queen,  with  the 
storminess,  the  love,  and  other  stage-heroism,  which  belong 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER.  133 

prescriptively  to  that  class  of  dignitaries.  With  regard  to 
Luther  himself,  it  is  evident  that  Werner  has  put  forth  his 
whole  strength  in  this  delineation  ;  and,  trying  him  by  com- 
mon standards,  we  are  far  from  saying  that  he  has  failed. 
Doubtless  it  is,  in  some  respects,  a  significant  and  even  sub- 
lime delineation  ;  yet  must  we  ask  whether  it  is  Luther,  the 
Luther  of  History,  or  even  the  Luther  proper  for  this  drama  ; 
and  not  rather  some  ideal  portraiture  of  Zacharias  Werner  him- 
self ?  Is  not  this  Luther,  with  his  too  assiduous  flute-playing, 
his  trances  of  three  days,  his  visions  of  the  Devil  (at  whom, 
to  the  sorrow  of  the  housemaid,  he  resolutely  throws  his  huge 
inkbottle),  by  much  too  spasmodic  and  brainsick  a  personage? 
We  cannot  but  question  the  dramatic  beauty,  whatever  it 
may  be  in  history,  of  that  three  days'  trance  ;  the  hero  must 
before  this  have  been  in  want  of  mere  victuals ;  and  there,  as 
he  sits  deaf  and  dumb,  with  his  eyes  sightless,  yet  fixed  and 
staring,  are  we  not  tempted  less  to  admire,  than  to  send  in 
all  haste  for  some  officer  of  the  Humane  Society? — Seriously, 
we  cannot  but  regret  that  these  and  other  such  blemishes  had 
not  been  avoided,  and  the  character,  worked  into  chasteness 
and  purity,  been  presented  to  us  in  the  simple  grandeur 
which  essentially  belongs  to  it.  For,  censure  as  we  may,  it 
were  blindness  to  deny  that  this  figure  of  Luther  has  in  it 
features  of  an  austere  loveliness,  a  mild  yet  awful  beauty  : 
undoubtedly  a  figure  rising  from  the  depths  of  the  poet's 
soul ;  and,  marred  as  it  is  with  such  adhesions,  piercing  at 
times  into  the  depths  of  ours  !  Among  so  many  poetical  sins, 
it  forms  the  chief  redeeming  virtue,  and  truly  were  almost  in 
itself  a  sort  of  atonement. 

As  for  the  other  characters,  they  need  not  detain  us  long. 
Of  Charles  the  Fifth,  by  far  the  most  ambitious, — meant,  in- 
deed, as  the  counterpoise  of  Luther, — we  may  say,  without  hes- 
itation, that  he  is  a  failure.  An  empty  Gascon  this  ;  bragging 
of  his  power,  and  honour  and  the  like,  in  a  style  which  Charles, 
even  in  his  nineteenth  }rear,  could  never  have  used.  '  One 
God,  one  Charles,'  is  no  speech  for  an  emperor  ;  and,  besides, 
is  borrowed  from  some  panegyrist  of  a  Spanish  opera-singer. 
Neither  can  we  fall-in  with  Charles,  when  he  tells  us  that  '  he 


134  LIFE  AND   WRITINGS  OF  WERNER 

fears  nothing, — not  even  God.'  "We  humbly  think  he  must 
be  mistaken.  With  the  old  Miners,  again,  with  Hans  Luther 
and  his  Wife,  the  Reformer's  parents,  there  is  more  reason  to 
be  satisfied  :  yet  in  Werner's  hands  simplicity  is  always  apt, 
in  such  cases,  to  become  too  simple  ;  and  these  honest  peas- 
ants, like  the  honest  Hugo  in  the  'Sons  of  the  Valley,'  are 
very  garrulous. 

The  drama  of  Martin  Luther  is  named  likewise  the  Conse- 
cration of  Strength  ;  that  is,  we  suppose,  the  purifying  of  this 
great  theologian  from  all  remnants  of  earthly  passion,  into  a 
clear  heavenly  zeal  ;  an  operation  which  is  brought  about, 
strangely  enough,  by  two  half-ghosts  and  one  whole  ghost, — 
a  little  fairy  girl,  Catharine's  servant,  who  impersonates  Faith  ; 
a  little  fairy  youth,  Luther's  servant,  who  represents  Art ;  and 
the  '  Spirit  of  Cotta's  wife,'  an  honest  housekeeper,  but  de- 
funct many  years  before,  who  stands  for  Purity.  These  three 
supernaturals  hover  about  in  very  whimsical  wise,  cultivating 
flowers,  playing  on  flutes,  and  singing  dirge-like  epithalami- 
ums  over  unsound  sleepers  :  we  cannot  see  how  aught  of  this 
is  to  'consecrate  strength  ;'  or,  indeed,  what  such  jack-o'-lan- 
tern personages  have  in  the  least  to  do  with  so  grave  a  busi- 
ness. If  the  author  intended  by  such  machinery  to  elevate 
his  subject  from  the  Common,  and  unite  it  with  the  higher 
region  of  the  Infinite  and  the  Invisible,  we  cannot  think  that 
his  contrivance  has  succeeded,  or  was  worthy  to  succeed. 
These  half-allegorical,  half-corporeal  beings  yield  no  content- 
ment an}' where  :  Abstract  Ideas,  however  they  may  put  on 
fleshly  garments,  are  a  class  of  characters  whom  we  cannot 
sympathise  with  or  delight  in.  Besides,  how  can  this  mere 
embodiment  of  an  allegory  be  supposed  to  act  on  the  rugged 
materials  of  life,  and  elevate  into  ideal  grandeur  the  doings 
of  real  men,  that  live  and  move  amid  the  actual  pressure  of 
worldly  things  ?  At  best,  it  can  stand  but  like  a  hand  in  the 
margin:  it  is  wot  performing  tile  task  proposed,  but  only  tell- 
ing us  that  it  was  meant  to  be  performed.  To  our  feelings, 
this  entire  episode  runs  like  straggling  bindweed  through  the 
whole  growth  of  the  piece,  not  so  much  uniting  as  encumber- 
ing and  choking-up  what  it  meets  with  ;  in  itself,  joerhaps,  a 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER.  135 

green  and  rather  pretty  weed  ;  yet  here  superfluous,  and,  like 
any  other  weed,  deserving  only  to  be  altogether  cut  away. 

Our  general  opinion  of  Martin  Luther,  it  would  seem,  there- 
fore, corresponds  ill  with  that  of  the  '  overflowing  and  de- 
lighted audiences '  over  all  Germany.  We  believe,  however, 
that  now,  in  its  twentieth  year,  the  work  may  be  somewhat 
more  calmly  judged  of  even  there.  As  a  classical  drama  it 
could  never  pass  with  any  critic  ;  nor,  on  the  other  hand, 
shall  we  ourselves  deny  that,  in  the  lower  sphere  of  a  popular 
spectacle,  its  attractions  are  manifold.  "We  find  it,  what,  more 
or  less,  we  find  all  Werner's  pieces  to  be,  a  splendid,  spark- 
ling mass  ;  yet  not  of  pure  metal,  but  of  many-coloured  scoria, 
not  unmingled  with  metal ;  and  must  regret,  as  ever,  that  it 
had  not  been  refined  in  a  stronger  furnace,  and  kept  in  the 
crucible  till  the  true  silver-gleam,  glancing  from  it,  had  shown 
that  the  process  was  complete. 

Werner's  dramatic  popularity  could  not  remain  without  in- 
fluence on  him,  more  especially  as  he  was  now  in  the  very 
centre  of  its  brilliancy,  having  changed  his  residence  from 
Warsaw  to  Berlin,  some  time  before  his  Weihe  der  Kraft  was 
acted,  or  indeed  written.  Von  Schruter,  one  of  the  state-minis- 
ters, a  man  harmonising  with  Werner  in  his  '  zeal  both  for  re- 
ligion and  freemasonry,'  had  been  persuaded  by  some  friends 
to  appoint  him  his  secretary.  Werner  naturally  rejoiced  in 
such  promotion  ;  yet,  combined  with  his  theatrical  success,  it 
perhaps,  in  the  long-run,  did  him  more  harm  than  good.  He 
might  now,  for  the  first  time,  be  said  to  see  the  busy  and  in- 
fluential world  with  his  own  eyes  :  but  to  draw  future  instruc- 
tion from  it,  or  even  to  guide  himself  in  its  present  complex- 
ities, he  was  little  qualified.  He  took  a  shorter  method  :  '  he 
plunged  into  the  vortex  of  society,'  says  Hitzig,  with  brief 
expressiveness  ;  became  acquainted,  indeed  with  Fichte,  Jo- 
hannes Midler,  and  other  excellent  men,  but  united  himself 
also,  and  with  closer  partiality,  to  players,  play-lovers,  and  a 
long  list  of  jovial,  admiring,  but  highly  unprofitable  compan- 
ions. His  religious  schemes,  perhaps  rebutted  by  collision 
with  actual  life,  lay  dormant  for  the  time,  or  mingled  in  strange 
union  with  wine-vapours,  and  the  '  feast  of  reason,  and  the 


136  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER.    " 

flow  of  soul.'  The  result  of  all  this  might,  in  some  measure, 
be  foreseen.  In  eight  weeks,  for  example,  Werner  had  parted 
with  his  wife.  It  was  not  to  be  expected,  he  writes,  that  she 
should  be  happy  with  him.  '  I  am  no  bad  man,'  continues  he, 
with  considerable  candour  ; '  yet  a  weakling  in  many  respects 
'  (for  God  strengthens  me  also  in  several),  fretful,  capricious, 
*  greedy,  impure.  Tho  \  knowest  me  !  Still,  immersed  in  my 
'  fantasies,  in  my  occupation  :  so  that  here,  what  with  play- 
'  houses,  what  with  social  parties,  she  had  no  manner  of  en- 
'  joyment  with  me.  She  is  innocent :  I  too  perhaps  ;  for  can 
'  I  pledge  myself  that  I  am  so  ?  '  These  repeated  divorces  of 
Werner's  at  length  convinced  him  that  he  had  no  talent  for 
managing  wives  ;  indeed,  we  subsequently  find  him,  more  than 
once,  arguing  in  dissuasion  of  marriage  altogether.  To  our 
readers  one  other  consideration  may  occur :  astonishment  at 
the  state  of  marriage-law,  and  the  strange  footing  this  '  sacra- 
ment '  must  stand  on  throughout  Protestant  Germany.  For 
a  Christian  man,  at  least  not  a  Mahometan,  to  leave  three 
widows  behind  him,  certainly  wears  a  peculiar  aspect.  Per- 
haps it  is  saying  much  for  German  morality,  that  so  absurd 
a  system  has  not,  by  the  disorders  resulting  from  it,  already 
brought  about  its  own  abrogation. 

Of  Werner's  farther  proceedings  in  Berlin,  except  by  im- 
plication, we  have  little  notice.  After  the  arrival  of  the 
French  armies,  his  secretaryship  ceased  ;  and  now  wifeless 
and  placeless,  in  the  summer  of  1807,  '  he  felt  himself,'  he 
says,  '  authorized  by  Fate  to  indulge  his  taste  for  pilgriming.' 
Indulge  it  accordingly  he  did  ;  for  he  wandered  to  and  fro 
many  years,  nay  we  may  almost  say,  to  the  end  of  his  life, 
like  a  perfect  Bedouin.  The  various  stages  and  occurrences 
of  his  travels,  he  has  himself  recorded  in  a  paper  furnished 
by  him  for  his  own  Name,  in  some  Biographical  Dictionary. 
Hitzig  quotes  great  part  of  it,  but  it  is  too  long  and  too 
meagre  for  being  quoted  here.  Werner  was  at  Prague, 
Vienna,  Munich, — everywhere  received  with  open  arms ;  '  saw 
1  at  Jena,  in  December  1807,  for  the  first  time,  the  most  uni- 
'  versal  and  the  clearest  man  of  his  age  (the  man  whose  like 
'  no  one  that  has  seen  him  will  ever  see  again),  the  great,  nay 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER.  137 

'  only  Goethe  ;  and,  under  his  introduction,  the  pattern  of 
'  German  princes '  (the  Duke  of  Weimar)  ;  and  then,  '  after 
'  three  ever-memorable  months  in  this  society,  beheld  at  Ber- 
1  lin  the  triumphant  entry  of  the  pattern  of  European  tyrants  ' 
(Napoleon).  On  the  summit  of  the  Rigi,  at  sunrise,  he  be- 
came acquainted  with  the  Crown  Prince,  now  King,  of  Ba- 
varia ;  was  by  him  introduced  to  the  Swiss  festival  at  Inter- 
laken,  and  to  the  most  'intellectual  lady  of  our  time,  the 
'  Baroness  de  Stael  ;  and  must  beg  to  be  credited  when,  after 
'  sufficient  individual  experience,  he  can  declare,  that  the 
'  heart  of  this  high  and  noble  woman  was  at  least  as  great  as 
'  her  genius.'  Coppet,  for  a  while,  was  his  head-quarters  ; 
but  he  went  to  Paris,  to  Weimar,1  again  to  Switzerland  ;  in 
short,  trudged  and  hurried  hither  and  thither,  inconstant  as 
an  ignis  fatuus,  and  restless  as  the  Wandering  Jew. 

On  his  mood  of  mind  during  all  this  period,  Werner  gives 
us  no  direct  information  ;  but  so  unquiet  an  outward  life  be- 
tokens of  itself  no  inward  repose  ;  and  when  we,  from  other 
lights,  gain  a  transient  glimpse  into  the  wayfarer's  thoughts, 
they  seem  still  more  fluctuating  than  his  footsteps.  His  proj- 
ect of  a  New  Religion  was  by  this  time  abandoned  :  Hitzig 
thinks  his  closer  survey  of  life  at  Berlin  had  taught  him  the 
impracticability  of  such  chimeras.  Nevertheless,  the  subject  of 
Religion,  in  one  shape  or  another,  nay  of  propagating  it  in  new 
purity  by  teaching  and  preaching,  had  nowise  vanished  from 
his  meditations.  On  the  contrary,  we  can  perceive  that  it  still 
formed  the  master-principle  of  his  soul,  '  the  pillar  of  cloud  by 
day,  and  the  pillar  of  fire  by  night,'  which  guided  him,  so  far  as 
he  had  any  guidance,  in  the  pathless  desert  of  his  now  solitary, 
barren  and  cheerless  existence.  What  his  special  opinions 
or  prospects  on  the  matter  had,  at  this  period,  become,  we 
nowhere  learn  ;  except,  indeed,  negatively, — for  if  he  has  not 
yet  found  the  new,  he  still  cordially  enough  detests  the  old. 

1  It  was  here  that  Hitzig  saw  him,  for  the  last  time,  in  1809  ;  found 
admittance,  through  his  means,  to  a  court-festival  in  honour  of  Berna- 
dotte,  and  he  still  recollects,  with  gratification,  '  the  lordly  spectacle  of 
Goethe  and  that  sovereign  standing  front  to  front,  engaged  in  the  live- 
liest conversation.' 


138  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER. 

All  his  admiration  of  Luther  cannot  reconcile  him  to  modern 
Lutheranism.  This  he  regards  but  as  another  and  more 
hideous  impersonation  of  the  Utilitarian  spirit  of  the  age,  nay 
as  the  last  triumph  of  Infidelity,  which  has  now  dressed  itself 
in  priestly  garb,  and  even  mounted  the  pulpit,  to  preach,  in 
heavenly  symbols,  a  doctrine  which  is  altogether  of  the  earth. 
A  curious  passage  from  his  Preface  to  the  Cross  on  the  Baltic 
we  may  quote,  by  way  of  illustration.  After  speaking  of  St. 
Adalbert's  miracles,  and  how  his  bod}T,  when  purchased  from 
the  heathen  for  its  weight  in  gold,  became  light  as  gossamer, 
he  proceeds  : 

'  Though  these  things  maybe  justly  doubted  ;  yet  one  mira- 
cle cannot  be  denied  him,  the  miracle,  namely,  that  after  his 
death  he  has  extorted  from  this  Spirit  of  Protestantism  against 
Strength  in  general, — which  now  replaces  the  old  heathen  and 
catholic  Spirit  of  Persecution,  and  weighs  almost  as  much  as 
Adalbert's  body, — the  admission,  that  he  knew  what  he 
wanted  ;  was  what  he  wished  to  be  ;  was  so  wholly  ;  and 
therefore  must  have  been  a  man,  at  all  points  diametrically 
opposite  both  to  that  Protestantism,  and  to  the  culture  of  our 
day.'  In  a  Note,  he  adds  :  '  There  is  another  Protestantism, 
however,  which  constitutes  in  Conduct  what  Art  is  in  Specu- 
lation, and  which  I  reverence  so  highly,  that  I  even  place  it 
above  Art,  as  Conduct  is  above  Speculation  at  all  times.  But 
in  this,  St.  Adalbert  and  St.  Luther  are — colleagues  :  and  if 
God,  which  I  daily  pray  for,  should  awaken  Luther  to  us 
before  the  Last  Day,  the  first  task  he  would  find,  in  respect  of 
that  degenerate  and  spurious  Protestantism,  would  be,  in  his 
somewhat  rugged  manner,  to — protest  against  it.' 

A  similar,  or  perhaps  still  more  reckless  temper,  is  to  be 
^traced  elsewhere,  in  passages  of  a  gay,  as  well  as  grave  char- 
acter.    This  is   the  conclusion  of   a  letter  from  Vienna,  in 
1807: 

'We  have  Tragedies  here  which  contain  so  many  edifying 
maxims,  that  you  might  use  them  instead  of  Jesus  Sirach,  and 
have  them  read  from  beginning  to  end  in  the  Berlin  Sunday- 
Schools.  Comedies,  likewise,  absolutely  bursting  with  house- 
hold felicity  and  nobleness  of  mind.     The  genuine  Kasperl  is 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER.  139 

dead,  and  Schikander  has  gone  his  ways  ;  but  here  too  Bigotry 
and  Superstition  are  attacked  in  enlightened  Journals  with 
such  profit,  that  the  people  care  less  for  Popery  than  even 
you  in  Berlin  do  ;  and  prize,  for  instance,  the  Weihe  der 
Kraft,  which  has  also  been  declaimed  in  Regensburg  and 
Munich  to  thronging  audiences, — chiefly  for  the  multitude  of 
liberal  Protestant  opinions  therein  brought  to  light  ;  and  re- 
gard the  author,  all  his  struggling  to  the  contrary  unheeded, 
as  a  secret  Illuminatus,  or  at  worst  an  amiable  Enthusiast. 
In  a  word,  Vienna  is  determined,  without  loss  of  time,  to  over- 
take Berlin  in  the  career  of  improvement  ;  and  when  I  recol- 
lect that  Berlin,  on  her  side,  carries  Porst's  Hymn-book  with 
her,  in  her  reticule,  to  the  shows  in  the  Thiergarten  ;  and 
that  the  ray  of  Christiano-catholico-platonic  Faith  pierces 
deeper  and  deeper  into  your  (already  by  nature  very  deep) 
Privy-councillor  Ma'm'selle, — I  almost  fancy  that  Germany  is 
one  great  madhouse  ;  and  could  find  in  my  heart  to  pack  up 
my  goods,  and  set  off  for  Italy,  to-morrow  morning  ; — not,  in- 
deed, that  I  might  work  there,  where  follies  enough  are  to  be 
had  too  ;  but  that,  amid  ruins  and  flowers,  I  might  forget  all 
things,  and  myself  in  the  first  place.' ' 

To  Italy  accordingly  he  went,  though  with  rather  different 
objects,  and  not  quite  so  soon  as  on  the  morrow.  In  the 
course  of  his  wanderings,  a  munificent  ecclesiastical  Prince, 
the  F  first  Primas  von  Dalberg,  had  settled  a  yearly  pension 
on  him  ;  so  that  now  he  felt  still  more  at  liberty  to  go  whither 
he  listed.  In  the  course  of  a  second  visit  to  Coppet,  and 
which  lasted  four  months,  Madame  de  Stael  encouraged  and 
assisted  him  to  execute  his  favourite  project ;  he  set  out, 
through  Turin  and  Florence,  and  '  on  the  9th  of  December 
'  1809,  saw,  for  the  first  time,  the  Capital  of  the  World ! '  Of 
his  proceedings  here,  much  as  we  should  desire  to  have  mi- 
nute details,  no  information  is  given  in  this  Narrative  ;  and 
Hitzig  seems  to  know,  by  a  letter,  merely,  that  '  he  knelt  with 
4  streaming  eyes  over  the  graves  of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul.' 
This  little  phrase  says  much.  Werner  appears  likewise  to 
have  assisted  at  certain  'Spiritual  Exercitations '  (Geistliche 
Uebungeri)  ;  a  new  invention  set  on  foot  at  Rome  for  quicken- 
ing the  devotion  of  the  faithful  ;  consisting,  so  far  as  we  can 

1  Lebens-Abriss,  s.  TO. 


140  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER. 

gather,  in  a  sort  of  fasting- an  d-prayer  meetings,  conducted 
on  the  most  rigorous  principles ;  the  considerable  band  of 
devotees  being  bound  over  to  strict  silence,  and  secluded  for 
several  days,  with  conventual  care,  from  every  sort  of  inter- 
course with  the  world.  The  effect  of  these  Exercitations, 
Werner  elsewhere  declares,  was  edifying  to  an  extreme  de- 
gree ;  at  parting  on  the  threshold  of  their  holy  tabernacle,  all 
the  brethren  '  embraced  each  other,  as  if  intoxicated  with  di- 
'  vine  joy  ;  and  each  confessed  to  the  other,  that  throughout 
'  these  precious  days  he  had  been,  as  it  were,  in  heaven  ;  and 
'  now,  strengthened  as  by  a  soul-purifying  bath,  was  but 
'  loath  to  venture  back  into  the  cold  weekday  world.'  The 
next  step  from  these  Tabor-feasts,  if,  indeed,  it  had  not  pre- 
ceded them,  was  a  decisive  one  :  '  On  the  19th  of  April  1811, 
Werner  had  grace  given  him  to  return  to  the  Faith  of  his 
fathers,  the  Catholic  ! ' 

Here,  then,  the  '  crowning  mercy '  had  at  length  arrived  ! 
This  passing  of  the  Rubicon  determined  the  whole  remainder 
of  Werner's  life  ;  which  had  henceforth  the  merit  at  least  of 
entire  consistency.  He  forthwith  set  about  the  professional 
study  of  Theology  ;  then,  being  perfected  in  this,  he  left 
Italy  in  1813,  taking  care,Jiowever,  by  the  road,  'to  suppli- 
cate, and  certainly  not  in  vain,  the  help  of  the  Gracious 
Mother  at  Loretto  ; '  and  after  due  preparation,  under  the 
superintendence  of  his  patron,  the  Prince  Archbishop  von 
Dalberg,  had  himself  ordained  a  Priest  at  Aschaffenburg,  in 
June  1814.  Next  from  Aschaffenburg  he  hastened  to  Vi- 
enna ;  and  there,  with  all  his  might,  began  preaching  ;  his 
first  auditory  being  the  Congress  of  the  Holy  Alliance,  which 
had  then  just  begun  its  venerable  sessions.  '  The  novelty 
and  strangeness,'  he  says,  '  nay  originality  of  his  appearance, 
secured  him  an  extraordinary  concourse  of  hearers.'  He  was,  ' 
indeed,  a  man  worth  hearing  and  seeing  ;  for  his  name, 
noised  abroad  in  many-sounding  peals,  was  filling  all  Ger- 
many from  the  hut  to  the  palace.  This,  he  thinks,  might 
have  affected  his  head ;  but  he  '  had  a  trust  in  God,  which 
bore  him  through.'  Neither  did  he  seem  anywise  anxious  to 
still  this  clamour  of  his  judges,  least  of  all  to  propitiate  his 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS   OF  WERNER.  141 

detractors  :  for  already,  before  arriving  at  Vienna,  he  had 
published,  as  a  pendant  to  his  Martin  Luther,  or  the  Conse- 
< ra lion  of  Strength,  a  Pamphlet,  in  doggrel  metre,  entitled, 
the  Consecration  of  Weakness,  wherein  he  proclaims  himself 
to  the  whole  world  as  an  honest  seeker  and  finder  of  truth, 
and  takes  occasion  to  revoke  his  old  '  Trinity,'  of  art,  relig- 
ion and  love  ;  love  having  now  turned  out  to  be  a  dangerous 
ingredient  in  such  mixtures.  The  writing  of  this  Weilie  der 
Unkraft  was  reckoned  by  many  a  bold  but  injudicious  meas- 
ure,— a  throwing  down  of  the  gauntlet  when  the  lists  were 
full  of  tumultuous  foes,  and  the  knight  was  but  weak,  and  his 
cause,  at  best,  of  the  most  questionable  sort.  To  reports, 
and  calumnies,  and  criticisms,  and  vituperations,  there  was 
no  limit. 

What  remains  of  this  strange  eventful  history  may  be 
summed  up  in  few  words.  Werner  accepted  no  special 
charge  in  the  Church  ;  but  continued  a  private  and  secular 
Priest ;  preaching  diligently,  but  only  where  he  himself  saw 
good  ;  oftenest  at  Vienna,  but  in  summer  over  all  parts  of 
Austria,  in  Styria,  Carinthia,  and  even  Venice.  Everywhere, 
he  says,  the  opinions  of  his  hearers  were  '  violently  divided.' 
At  one  time,  he  thought  of  becoming  Monk,  and  had  actually 
entered  on  a  sort  of  noviciate  ;  but  he  quitted  the  establish- 
ment rather  suddenly,  and,  as  he  is  reported  to  have  said, 
'for  reasons  known  only  to  God  and  himself.'  By  degrees, 
his  health  grew  very  weak  :  yet  he  still  laboured  hard  both 
in  public  and  private  ;  writing  or  revising  poems,  devotional 
or  dramatic  ;  preaching,  and  officiating  as  father-confessor,  in 
which  last  capacity  he  is  said  to  have  been  in  great  request. 
Of  his  poetical  productions  during  this  period,  there  is  none 
of  any  moment  known  to  us,  except  the  Mother  of  the  Macca- 
bees (1819)  ;  a  tragedy  of  careful  structure,  and  apparently  in 
high  favour  with  the  author,  but  which,  notwithstanding, 
need  not  detain  us  long.  In  our  view,  it  is  the  worst  of  all 
his  pieces  ;  a  pale,  bloodless,  indeed  quite  ghost-like  affair ; 
for  a  cold  breath  as  from  a  sepulchre  chills  the  heart  in  pe- 
rusing it :  there  is  no  passion  or  interest,  but  a  certain  woe- 
struck  martyr  zeal,  or  rather  frenzy,  and  this  not  so  much 


142  LIFE  AND  WETTINGS  OF  WERNER. 

storming  as  shrieking" ;  not  loud  and  resolute,  but  shrill, 
hysterical  and  bleared  with  ineffectual  tears.  To  read  it  may 
well  sadden  us :  it  is  a  convulsive  fit,  whose  uncontrollable 
writhings  indicate,  not  strength,  but  the  last  decay  of  that.1 

Werner  was,  in  fact,  drawing  to  his  latter  end :  his  health 
had  long  been  ruined  ;  especially  of  later  years,  he  had  suf- 
fered much  from  disorders  of  the  lungs.  In  1817,  he  was 
thought  to  be  dangerously  ill ;  and  afterwards,  in  1822,  when 
a  journey  to  the  Baths  partly  restored  him  ;  though  he  him- 
self still  felt  that  his  term  was  near,  and  spoke  and  acted  like 
a  man  that  was  shortly  to  depart.  In  January  1823,  he  was 
evidently  dying  :  his  affairs  he  had  already  settled  ;  much 
of  his  time  he  spent  in  prayer  ;  was  constantly  cheerful,  at 
intervals  even  gay.      '  His  death/  says  Hitzig,  *  was  especially 

■  mild.  On  the  eleventh  day  of  his  disorder,  lie  felt  himself, 
'  particularly  towards  evening,  as  if  altogether  light  and  well ; 
'  so  that  he  would  hardly  consent  to  have  any  one  to  watch 
'  with  him.  The  servant  whose  turn  it  was  did  watch,  how- 
*  ever  ;  he  had  sat  down  by  the  bedside  between  two  and 
'  three  next  morning  (the  17th),  and  continued  there  a  con- 
'  siderable  while,  in  the  belief  that  his  patient  was  asleep. 
'  Surprised,  however,  that  no  breathing  was  to  be  heard,  he 

■  hastily  aroused  the  household,  and  it  was  found  that  Werner 
'  had  already  passed  away.' 

In  imitation,  it  is  thought,  of  Lipsius,  he  bequeathed  his 
Pen  to  the  treasury  of  the  Virgin  at  Mariazell,  '  as  a  chief 
instrument  of  his  aberrations,  his  sins  and  his  repentance/ 
He  was  honourably  interred  at  Enzersdorf  on  the  Hill ;  where 
a  simple  inscription,  composed  by  himself,  begs  the  wanderer 

1  Of  his  Attila  (1808),  his  Vier-und-zwanzigste  Februar  (1809),  his 
Cunegunde  (1814),  and  various  other  pieces  written  in  his  wanderings, 
we  have  not  room  to  speak.  It  is  the  less  necessary,  as  the  Attila  and 
Twenty-fourth  of  February,  by  much  the  best  of  these,  have  already 
been  forcibly,  and  on  the  whole  fairly,  characterised  by  Madame  de 
Stael.  Of  the  last-named  little  work  we  might  say,  with  double  em- 
phasis, Nee  pueros  coram  populo  Medea  trucidet :  it  has  a  deep  and 
genuine  tragic  interest,  were  it  not  so  painfully  protracted  into  the  re- 
gions of  pure  horror.  Werner's  Sermons,  his  Hymns,  his  Preface  to 
Thomas  a  Kempis,  &c.  are  entirely  unknown  to  us. 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER.  143 

to  '  pray  charitably  for  his  pOor  soul ; '  and  expresses  a  trem- 
bling hope  that,  as  to  Mary  Magdalen,  '  because  she  loved 
much,'  so  to  him  also  '  much  may  be  forgiven.' 

We  have  thus,  in  hurried  movement,  travelled  over  Zacha- 
rias  Werner's  Life  and  Works  ;  noting  down  from  the  former 
such  particulars  as  seemed  most  characteristic  ;  and  gleaning 
from  the  latter  some  more  curious  passages,  less  indeed  with 
a  view  to  their  intrinsic  excellence,  than  to  their  fitness  for 
illustrating  the  man.  These  scattered  indications  we  must 
now  leave  our  readers  to  interpret  each  for  himself  :  each  will 
adjust  them  into  that  combination  which  shall  best  harmonise 
with  his  own  way  of  thought.  As  a  writer,  Werner's  charac- 
ter will  occasion  little  difficulty.  A  richly  gifted  nature  ;  but 
never  wisely  guided,  or  resolutely  applied  ;  a  loving  heart ;  an 
intellect  subtle  and  inquisitive,  if  not  always  clear  and  strong  ; 
a  gorgeous,  deep  and  bold  imagination  ;  a  true,  nay  keen  and 
burning  sympathy  wdth  all  high,  all  tender  and  holy  things  : 
here  lay  the  main  elements  of  no  common  poet ;  save  only 
that  one  was  still  wanting, — the  force  to  cultivate  them,  and 
mould  them  into  pure  union.  But  they  have  remained  un- 
cultivated, disunited,  too  often  struggling  in  wild  disorder : 
his  poetry,  like  his  life,  is  still  not  so  much  an  edifice  as  a 
quarry.  Werner  had  cast  a  look  into  perhaps  the  very  deep- 
est region  of  the  Wonderful  ;  but  he  had  not  learned  to  live 
there  :  he  was  }Tet  no  denizen  of  that  mysterious  land  ;  and, 
in  his  visions,  its  splendour  is  strangely  mingled  and  over- 
clouded with  the  flame  or  smoke  of  mere  earthly  fire.  Of  his 
dramas  we  have  already  spoken  ;  and  with  much  to  praise, 
found  always  more  to  censure.  In  his  rhymed  pieces,  his 
shorter,  more  didactic  poems,  we  are  better  satisfied  :  here, 
in  the  rude,  jolting  vehicle  of  a  certain  Sternhold-and-Hop- 
kins  metre,  we  often  find  a  strain  of  true  pathos,  and  a  deep 
though  quaint  significance.  His  prose,  again,  is  among  the 
worst  known  to  us  :  degraded  with  silliness  ;  diffuse,  nay 
tautological,  }ret  obscure  and  vague  ;  contorted  into  endless 
involutions  ;  a  misshapen,  lumbering,  complected  coil,  well 
nigh  inexplicable  in  its  entanglements,  and  seldom  worth  the 


144  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER. 

trouble  of  unravelling.  He  does  not  move  through  his  sub- 
ject, and  arrange  it,  and  rule  over  it :  for  the  most  part,  he 
but  welters  in  it,  and  laboriously  tumbles  it,  and  at  last  sinks 
under  it. 

As  a  man,  the  ill-fated  Werner  can  still  less  content  us. 
His  feverish,  inconstant  and  wasted  life  we  have  already 
looked  at.  Hitzig,  his  determined  wellwisher,  admits  that 
in  practice  he  was  selfish,  wearying  out  his  best  friends  b}r 
the  most  barefaced  importunities  ;  a  man  of  no  dignity  ;  ava- 
ricious, greedy,  sensual,  at  times  obscene  ;  in  discourse,  with 
all  his  humour  and  heartiness,  apt  to  be  intolerably  long- 
winded  ;  and  of  a  maladroitness,  a  blank  ineptitude,  which 
exposed  him  to  incessant  ridicule  and  manifold  mystifications 
from  people  of  the  world.  Nevertheless,  under  all  this  rub- 
bish, contends  the  friendly  Biographer,  there  dwelt,  for  those 
who  could  look  more  narrowly,  a  spirit,  marred  indeed  in  its 
beauty,  and  languishing  in  painful  conscious  oppression,  jret 
never  wholly  forgetful  of  its  original  nobleness.  Werner's 
soul  was  made  for  affection  ;  and  often  as,  under  his  too  rude 
collisions  with  external  things,  it  was  struck  into  harshness 
and  dissonance,  there  was  a  tone  which  spoke  of  melody,  even 
in  its  jarrings.  A  kind,  a  sad  and  heartfelt  remembrance  of 
his  friends  seems  never  to  have  quitted  him  :  to  the  last  he 
ceased  not  from  warm  love  to  men  at  large  ;  nay,  to  awaken 
in  them,  with  such  knowledge  as  he  had,  a  sense  for  what 
was  best  and  highest,  may  be  said  to  have  formed  the  earnest, 
though  weak  and  unstable  aim  of  his  whole  existence.  The 
truth  is,  his  defects  as  a  writer  were  also  his  defects  as  a  man : 
he  was  feeble,  and  without  volition  ;  in  life,  as  in  poetry,  his 
endowments  fell  into  confusion  ;  his  character  relaxed  itself 
on  all  sides  into  incoherent  expansion  ;  his  activity  became 
gigantic  endeavour,  followed  by  most  dwarfish  performance. 

The  grand  incident  of  his  life,  his  adoption  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  religion,  is  one  on  which  we  need  not  heap  farther 
censure  ;  for  already,  as  appears  to  us,  it  is  rather  liable  to 
be  too  harshly  than  too  leniently  dealt  with.  There  is  a  feel- 
ing in  the  popular  mind,  which,  in  well-meant  hatred  of  in- 
consistency,  perhaps   m   general   too   sweepingly   condemns 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER.  145 

such  changes.  Werner,  it  should  be  recollected,  had  at  all 
periods  of  his  life  a  religion ;  nay,  he  hungered  and  thirsted 
after  truth  in  this  matter,  as  after  the  highest  good  of  man  ; 
a  fact  which  of  itself  must,  in  this  respect,  set  him  far  above 
the  most  consistent  of  mere  unbelievers,  —  in  whose  bar- 
ren and  callous  soul  consistency  perhaps  is  no  such  brilliant 
virtue.  We  pardon  genial  weather  for  its  changes  ;  but  the 
steadiest  of  all  climates  is  that  of  Greenland.  Farther,  we 
must  say  that,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  in  Werner's  whole 
conduct,  both  before  and  after  his  conversion,  there  is  not 
visible  the  slightest  trace  of  insincerity.  On  the  whole,  there 
are  fewer  genuine  renegades  than  men  are  apt  to  imagine. 
Surely,  indeed,  that  must  be  a  nature  of  extreme  baseness, 
who  feels  that,  in  worldly  good,  he  can  gain  by  such  a  step. 
Is  the  contempt,  the  execration  of  all  that  have  known  and 
loved  us,  and  of  millions  that  have  never  known  us,  to  be 
weighed  against  a  mess  of  pottage,  or  a  piece  of  money  ?  We 
hope  there  are  not  many,  even  in  the  rank  of  sharpers,  that 
would  think  so.  But  for  Werner  there  was  no  gain  in  any 
way  ;  nay,  rather  certainty  of  loss.  He  enjoyed  or  sought  no 
patronage  ;  with  his  own  resources  he  was  alread}'  indepen- 
dent though  poor,  and  on  a  footing  of  good  esteem  with  all 
that  was  most  estimable  in  his  country.  His  little  pension, 
conferred  on  him,  at  a  prior  date,  by  a  Catholic  Prince,  was 
not  continued  after  his  conversion,  except  by  the  Duke  of 
Weimar,  a  Protestant.  He  became  a  mark  for  calumny  ;  the 
defenceless  butt  at  which  every  callow  witling  made  his  proof- 
shot  ;  his  character  was  more  deformed  and  mangled  than 
that  of  an}'  other  man.  What  had  he  to  gain  ?  Insult  and 
persecution  ;  and  with  these,  as  candour  bids  us  believe,  the 
approving  voice  of  his  own  conscience.  To  judge  from  his 
writings,  he  was  far  from  repenting  of  the  change  he  had 
made  ;  his  Catholic  faith  evidently  stands  in  his  own  mind  as 
the  first  blessing  of  his  life  ;  and  he  clings  to  it  as  the  anchor 
of  his  soul.  Scarcely  more  than  once  (in  the  Preface  to  his 
Matter  der  Malckabtier)  does  he  allude  to  the  legions  of  false- 
hoods that  were  in  circulation  against  him  ;  and  it  is  in  a 
spirit  which,  without  entirely  concealing  the  querulousness 
10 


146  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER. 

of  nature,  nowise  fails  in  the  meekness  and  endurance  which 
became  him  as  a  Christian.  Here  is  a  fragment  of  another 
Paper,  published  since  his  death,  as  it  was  meant  to  be  ;  which 
exhibits  him  in  a  still  clearer  light.  The  reader  may  con- 
temn, or,  what  will  be  better,  pity  and  sympathise  with  him  ; 
but  the  structure  of  this  strange  piece  surely  bespeaks  ai:nr- 
thing  but  insincerity.  We  translate  it  with  all  its  breaks  and 
fantastic  crotchets,  as  it  stands  before  us  : 

'  Testamentary  Inscription,  from  Friedrich  Ludwig  Zach- 
arias  Werner,  a  son,'  &c. — (here  follows  a  statement  of  his 
parentage  and  birth,  with  vacant  spaces  for  the  date  of  his 
death), — '  of  the  following  lines,  submitted  to  all  such  as  have 
more  or  less  felt  any  friendly  interest  in  his  unworthy  person, 
with  the  request  to  take  warning  by  his  example,  and  charita- 
bly to  remember  the  poor  soul  of  the  writer  before  God,  in 
prayer  and  good  deeds. 


'  Begun  at  Florence,  on  the  24th  of  September,  about  eight 
in  the  evening,  amid  the  still  distant  sound  of  approaching 
thunder.     Concluded,  when  and  where  God  will ! 


Motto,  Device  and  Watchword  in  Death :  Remittuntur  ei 
peccata  multa,  quoniam  dilexit  multum! ! ! — Lucas,  caput  vii. 
v.  47.  

'  N.B.  Most  humbly  and  earnestly,  and  in  the  name  of  God, 
does  the  Author  of  this  Writing  beg,  of  such  honest  persons 
as  may  find  it,  to  submit  the  same  in  any  suitable  way  to  pub- 
lic examination. 

1  Fecisti  nos>  Dominey  ad  Te ;  et  irrequietum  est  cor  nostrum, 
donee  requiescat  in  Te. — S.  Augustinus. 

'Per  multa  dispergitur,  et  hie  illucque  qucerit  (cor)  ubi  requies- 
cere  possit,  et  nihil  invenit  quod  ei  sufficiat,  donee  ad  ipsum  (sc. 
Deum)  redeat. — S.  Bernardus. 

'In  the  name  of  God  the  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost. 
Amen  ! 

1  The  thunder  came  hither,  and  is  still  rolling',  though  now 
at  a  distance. — The  name  of  the  Lord  be  praised !  Hallelu- 
jah ! — I  begin  : 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER.  147 

'  This  Paper  must  needs  be  brief ;  because  the  appointed 
term  for  my  life  itself  may  already  be  near  at  hand.  There 
are  not  wanting  examples  of  important  and  unimportant  men, 
who  have  left  behind  them  in  writing  the  defence,  or  even 
sometimes  the  accusation,  of  their  earthly  life.  Without  esti- 
mating such  procedure,  I  am  not  minded  to  imitate  it.  With 
trembling  I  reflect  that  I  myself  shall  first  learn  in  its  whole 
terrific  compass  what  properly  I  wTas,  when  these  lines  shall  be 
read  by  men  ;  that  is  to  say,  in  a  point  of  Time  which  for  me 
will  be  no  Time  ;  in  a  condition  wherein  all  experience  will 
for  me  be  too  late  ! 

Rex  tremendce  majestatis, 
Qui  salvandos  salens  gratis, 
Salua  me,  fons  pietatis  !  !  ! 

But  if  I  do,  till  that  day  when  All  shall  be  laid  open,  draw  a 
veil  over  my  past  life,  it  is  not  merely  out  of  false  shame  that 
I  so  order  it ;  for  though  not  free  from  this  vice  also,  I  would 
willingly  make  known  my  guilt  to  all  and  every  one  whom  my 
voice  might  reach,  could  I  hope,  by  such  confession,  to  atone 
for  what  I  have  done  ;  or  thereby  to  save  a  single  soul  from 
perdition.  There  are  two  motives,  however,  which  forbid  me 
to  make  such  an  open  personal  revelation  after  death :  the 
one,  because  the  unclosing  of  a  pestilential  grave  may  be 
dangerous  to  the  health  of  the  uninfected  looker-on  ;  the 
other,  because  in  my  Writings  (which  may  God  forgive  me !), 
amid  a  wilderness  of  poisonous  weeds  and  garbage,  there 
may  also  be  here  and  there  a  medicinal  herb  lying  scattered, 
from  which  poor  patients,  to  whom  it  might  be  useful,  would 
start  back  with  shuddering,  did  they  know  the  pestiferous 
soil  on  which  it  grew. 

'So  much,  however,  in  regard  to  those  good  creatures  as 
they  call  themselves,  namely  to  those  feeble  weaklings  who 
brag  of  what  they  designate  their  good  hearts, — so  much 
must  I  say  before  God,  that  such  a  heart  alone,  when  it  is  not 
checked  and  regulated  by  forethought  and  stedfastness,  is 
not  only  incapable  of  saving  its  possessor  from  destruction, 
but  is  rather  certain  to  hurry  him,  full  speed,  into  that  abyss, 
where  I  have  been,  whence  I — perhaps  ?  !  !  ! — by  God's  grace 
am  snatched,  and  from  which  may  God  mercifully  preserve 
every  reader  of  these  lines. ' ' 

1  Werner's  Letzte  Lebenstagen  (quoted  by  Hitzig,  p.  80). 


14S  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER. 

All  this  is  melancholy  enough  ;  but  it  is  not  like  the  writing 
of  a  hypocrite  or  repentant  apostate.  To  Protestantism, 
above  all  things,  Werner  shows  no  thought  of  returning.  In 
allusion  to  a  rumour,  which  had  spread,  of  his  having  given 
up  Catholicism,  he  says  (in  the  Preface  already  quoted) : 

1  A  stupid  falsehood  I  must  reckon  it ;  since,  according  to  my 
deepest  conviction,  it  is  as  impossible  that  a  soul  in  Bliss 
should  return  back  into  the  Grave,  as  that  a  man,  who,  like 
me,  after  a  life  of  error  and  search  has  found  the  priceless 
jewel  of  Truth,  should,  I  will  not  say,  give  up  the  same,  but 
hesitate  to  sacrifice  for  it  blood  and  life,  nay  many  things  per- 
haps far  dearer,  with  joyful  heart,  when  the  one  good  cause  is 
concerned.' 

And  elsewhere  in  a  private  letter : 

'  I  not  only  assure  thee,  but  I  beg  of  thee  to  assure  all  men, 
if  God  should  ever  so  withdraw  the  light  of  his  grace  from 
me.  that  I  ceased  to  be  a  Catholic,  I  would  a  thousand  times 
sooner  join  myself  to  Judaism,  or  to  the  Bramins  on  the 
Ganges :  bat  to  that  shallowest,  driest,  most  contradictory, 
inanest  Inanity  of  Protestantism,  never,  never,  never  !  ' 

Here,  perhaps,  there  is  a  touch  of  priestly,  of  almost  femi- 
nine vehemence  ;  for  it  is  to  a  Protestant  and  an  old  friend 
that  he  writes  :  but  the  conclusion  of  his  Preface  shows  him 
in  a  better  light.  Speaking  of  Second  Parts,  and  regretting 
that  so  many  of  his  works  were  unfinished,  he  adds : 

'  But  what  specially  comforts  me  is  the  prospect  of — our 
general  Second  Part,  where,  even  in  the  first  Scene,  this  consola- 
tion, that  there  all  our  works  will  be  known,  may  not  indeed 
prove  solacing  for  us  all ;  but  where,  through  the  strength 
of  Him  that  alone  completes  all  works,  it  will  be  granted 
to  those  whom  He  has  saved,  not  only  to  know  each  other, 
but  even  to  know  Him,  as  by  Him  they  are  known  ! — With 
my  trust  in  Christ,  whom  I  have  not  yet  won,  I  regard,  with 
the  Teacher  of  the  Gentiles,  all  things  but  dross  that  I  may 
win  Him  ;  and  to  Him,  cordially  and  lovingly  do  I,  in  life  or 
at  death,  commit  you  all,  my  beloved  Friends  and  my  beloved 
Enemies ! ' 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER.  149 

On  the  whole,  we  cannot  think  it  doubtful  that  "Werner's 
belief  was  real  and  heartfelt.  But  how  then,  our  wondering 
readers  may  inquire,  if  his  belief  was  real  and  not  pretended, 
how  then  did  he  believe  ?  He,  who  scoffs  in  infidel  style  at 
the  truths  of  Protestantism,  by  what  alchemy  did  he  succeed 
in  tempering  into  credibility  the  harder  and  bulkier  dogmas 
of  Popery  ?  Of  Popery,  too,  the  frauds  and  gross  corruptions 
of  which  he  lias  so  fiercely  exposed  in  his  Martin  In  I  Iter;  and 
this,  moreover,  without  cancelling,  or  even  softening  his  vi- 
tuperations, long  after  his  conversion,  in  the  very  last  edition 
of  that  drama  ?  To  this  question,  we  are  far  from  pretending  to 
have  any  answer  that  altogether  satisfies  ourselves  ;  much  less 
that  shall  altogether  satisfy  others.  Meanwhile,  there  are  two 
considerations  which  throw  light  on  the  difficulty  for  us  :  these, 
as  some  step,  or  at  least,  attempt  towards  a  solution  of  it,  we 
shall  not  withhold.  The  first  lies  in  Werner's  individual  char- 
acter and  mode  of  life.  Not  only  was  he  born  a  mystic,  not 
only  had  he  lived  from  of  old  amid  freemasonry,  and  all  man- 
ner of  cabalistic  and  other  traditionary  chimeras  ;  he  was  also, 
and  had  long  been,  what  is  emphatically  called  dissolute ;  a 
word  which  has  now  lost  somewhat  of  its  original  force  ;  but 
which,  as  applied  here,  is  still  more  just  and  significant  in  its 
etymological  than  in  its  common  acceptation.  He  was  a  man 
dissolute ;  that  is,  by  a  long  course  of  vicious  indulgences,  en- 
ervated and  loosened  asunder.  Everywhere  in  Werner's  life 
and  actions  we  discern  a  mind  relaxed  from  its  proper  ten- 
sion ;  no  longer  capable  of  effort  and  toilsome  resolute  vigil- 
ance ;  but  floating  almost  passively  with  the  current  of  its 
impulses,  in  languid,  imaginative,  Asiatic  reverie.  That  such 
a  man  should  discriminate,  with  sharp  fearless  logic,  between 
beloved  errors  and  unwelcome  truths,  was  not  to  be  expected. 
His  belief  is  likely  to  have  been  persuasion  rather  than  eon- 
motion,  both  as  it  related  to  Religion,  and  to  other  subjects. 
What,  or  how  much  a  man  in  this  way  may  bring  himself  to 
believe,  with  such  force  and  distinctness  as  he  honestly  and 
usually  calls  belief,  there  is  no  predicting. 

But  another  consideration,  which  we  think  should  nowise 
be  omitted,  is   the   general  state  of  religious  opinion  in  Ger- 


150  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER 

many,  especially  among  such  minds  as  Werner  was  most  apt 
to  take  for  his  exemplars.  To  this  complex  and  highly  in- 
teresting subject  we  can,  for  the  present,  do  nothing  more 
than  allude.  So  much,  however,  we  may  say  :  It  is  a  com- 
mon theory  among  the  Germans,  that  every  Creed,  every 
Form  of  worship,  is  a  form  merely  ;  the  mortal  and  ever- 
changing  body,  in  which  the  immortal  and  unchanging,  spirit 
of  Religion  is,  with  more  or  less  completeness,  expressed  to 
the  material  eye,  and  made  manifest  and  influential  among 
the  doings  of  men.  It  is  thus,  for  instance,  that  Johannes 
Miiller,  in  his  Universal  History,  professes  to  consider  the 
Mosaic  Law,  the  creed  of  Mahomet,  nay  Luther's  Reforma- 
tion ;  and,  in  short,  all  other  systems  of  Faith ;  which  he 
scruples  not  to  designate,  without  special  praise  or  censure, 
simply  as  Vorstellungsarten,  '  Modes  of  Representation.'  We 
could  report  equally  singular  things  of  Schelling  and  others, 
belonging  to  the  philosophic  class  ;  nay  of  Herder,  a  Protes- 
tant clergyman,  and  even  bearing  high  authority  in  the  Church. 
Now,  it  is  clear,  in  a  country  where  such  opinions  are  openly 
and  generally  professed,  a  change  of  religious  creed  must  be 
comparatively  a  slight  matter.  Conversions  to  Catholicism 
are  accordingly  by  no  means  unknown  among  the  Germans  : 
Friedrich  Schlegel,  and  the  younger  Count  von  Stolberg, 
men,  as  we  should  think,  of  vigorous  intellect,  and  of  char- 
acter above  suspicion,  were  colleagues,  or  rather  precursors, 
of  Werner  in  this  adventure  ;  and,  indeed,  formed  part  of 
his  acquaintance  at  Vienna.  It  is  but,  they  would  perhaps 
say,  as  if  a  melodist,  inspired  with  harmony  of  inward  music, 
should  choose  this  instrument  in  preference  to  that,  for  giv- 
ing voice  to  it :  the  inward  inspiration  is  the  grand  concern  ; 
and  to  express  it,  the  '  deep,  majestic,  solemn  organ  '  of  the 
Unchangeable  Church  may  be  better  fitted  than  the  '  scrannel 
pipe '  of  a  withered,  trivial,  Arian  Protestantism.  That  Wer- 
ner, still  more  that  Schlegel  and  Stolberg  could,  on  the 
strength  of  such  hypotheses,  put-off  or  put-on  their  religious 
creed,  like  a  new  suit  of  apparel,  we  are  far  from  asserting  ; 
they  are  men  of  earnest  hearts,  and  seem  to  have  a  deep  feeling 
of  devotion  :  but  it  should  be  remembered,  that  what  forms  the 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  WERNER.  151 

groundwork  of  their  religion  is  professedly  not  Demonstration 
but  Faith  ;  and  so  pliant  a  theory  could  not  but  help  to  soften 
the  transition  from  the  former  to  the  latter.  That  some  such 
principle,  in  one  shape  or  another,  lurked  in  Werner's  mind, 
we  think  we  can  perceive  from  several  indications  ;  among 
others,  from  the  Prologue  to  his  last  tragedy,  where,  mysteri- 
ously enough,  under  the  emblem  of  a  Phoenix,  he  seems  to 
be  shadowing  forth  the  history  of  his  own  Faith  ;  and  repre- 
sents himself  even  then  as  merely  '  climbing  the  tree,  where  the 
pinions  of  his  Phoenix  last  vanished  ; '  but  not  hoping  to  regain 
that  blissful  vision,  till  his  eyes  shall  have  been  opened  by  death. 

On  the  whole,  we  must  not  pretend  to  understand  Werner, 
or  expound  him  with  scientific  rigour  :  acting  many  times 
with  only  half  consciousness,  he  was  always,  in  some  degree, 
air  enigma  to  himself,  and  may  well  be  obscure  to  us.  Above 
all,  there  are  mysteries  and  unsounded  abysses  in  every  hu- 
man heart ;  and  that  is  but  a  questionable  philosophy  which 
undertakes  so  readily  to  explain  them.  Religious  belief  es- 
pecially, at  least  when  it  seems  heartfelt  and  well-intentioned, 
is  no  subject  for  harsh  or  even  irreverent  investigation."  He 
is  a  wise  man  that,  having  such  a  belief,  knows  and  sees 
clearly  the  grounds  of  it  in  himself  :  and  those,  we  imagine, 
who  have  explored  with  strictest  scrutiny  the  secret  of  their 
own  bosoms,  will  be  least  apt  to  rush  with  intolerant  violence 
into  that  of  other  men's. 

'The  good  Werner,'  says  Jean  Paul,  'fell,  like  our  more 
'vigorous  Hoffmann,  into  the  poetical  fermenting- vat  (Gahr- 
'  bottich)  of  our  time,  where  all  Literatures,  Freedoms,  Tastes 
'  and  Untastes  are  foaming  through  each  other  ;  and  where  all 
'  is  to  be  found,  excepting  truth,  diligence  and  the  polish  of 
'  the  file.  Both  would  have  come  forth  clearer  had  they 
'  studied  in  Lessing's  day.'  '  We  cannot  justify  WTerner  :  yet 
let  him  be  condemned  with  pity !  And  well  were  it  could 
each  of  us  apply  to  himself  those  words,  which  Hitzig,  in  his 
friendly  indignation,  would  '  thunder  in  the  ears '  of  many  a 
German  gainsayer  :  Take  thou  the  beam  out  of  thine  own  eye  ; 
then  shalt  thou  see  clearly  to  take  the  mote  out  of  thy  brother's. 
1  Letter  to  Hitzig,  in  Jean  PaxPs  leben,  bv  Doring. 


/sss~ 


HmM 


